#partashi

𝖾𝗉.1 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 (𝗈𝗅𝖽) 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾

𝖾𝗉.2 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅

𝖾𝗉.3 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝖻

𝖾𝗉.4 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖾𝗉.5 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗏𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗋

“Tashi…” Art hedges, hovering behind his wife as another knock at the door rings through their entryway.

“What?” She hisses, turning sharply to look over her shoulder at him. He can’t even really begrudge her the annoyance, he knows he’s been pestering her just a bit too much all day. But sue him, he’s not exactly confident about inviting his college best friend to fuck his wife. 

Tashi sighs, dragging a hand down her face. Art can see the way she talks herself out of snapping at him, the very intentional softening of her shoulders as she takes a few deep breaths and turns to face him fully. “What?” She tries again, still irritated but softer.

“It’s just…” Art starts, crossing his arms over his chest to keep from fidgeting. Tashi usually can’t tolerate more than one nervous habit at a time, and he’s been chewing gum since he finished brushing his teeth this morning. “Are you sure about this?”

She gives him an incredulous look, one eyebrow arched high. “Are you serious right now, Art?”

He jerks his head to the side a bit, trying to convey well, yeah with his body language in a way that doesn’t make him look like a total pussy. He’s not sure why he keeps thinking Tashi will call this all off when it was her idea in the first place, but until there’s another man in front of him Art’s choosing to believe she could.

“Listen,” she sighs, stepping forward and grabbing him by the biceps. “If you have a real objection, tell me now. I’ll open the door and tell him to fuck right off, alright? But I want this, and I think you do too.” She looks deep into his eyes, in that piercing, demanding way that always makes Art go weak for her and agree to anything she says. “I want to do this. Are you with me or not?”

He’s nodding before he can quite make himself talk. “Yeah,” he says, chomping again on his gum. Tashi manages not to comment on it, but he can tell she wants to. “Yeah, ‘course. Anything you want, Tash.”

Her smile is less grin and more smirk, but she moves her hands from his shoulders to his cheeks and gives him a long, sweet kiss, and Art is suddenly sure that he can, that he will do absolutely anything for her. 

“Good,” she says once she pulls back, scratching his jaw lightly with her sharp nails. Another set of knocks rings through the house, decidedly impatient now. Tashi rolls her eyes, looking at Art like they’re in some sort of inside joke and he’s not about to jump out of his skin. She ignores how tense he is and squeezes his shoulders before turning away, finally going to open the door.

Art forces himself not to close his eyes, but he lets himself lean against the wall so he doesn’t have to hold himself up. He feels a little weak in the knees in a way he hasn’t in a very long time. He’s been feeling this sort of nervousness far too much lately – it’s been with him for what feels like every second since he retired, and he gets the sense he’s not getting away from it anytime soon. 

“Stop knocking so loudly unless you want the neighbors calling on the cops on us,” Tashi scolds, finally opening the door. Art can see Patrick’s curly hair above her head, and he has to fight not to turn away.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t want so much noise you should open the fucking door faster, huh?” Patrick snarks, and suddenly Art’s a lot less sure he can do this. 

Patrick shoulders his way past Tashi, shrugging off his worn hoodie and throwing it messily onto a coat hook Art had to measure and remeasure at least five times before hanging. The hook he chooses is two centimeters below the other four – Art didn’t notice, even with his measuring and remeasuring, but Tashi never lets him forget.

“Hey, man,” Patrick says, his smile quirking up on one side.

Art swallows thickly, tongue suddenly bone dry. His gum sticks to the roof of his mouth. “Hey.”

Patrick’s smile grows as he moves closer to Art, completely bypassing Tashi to lean on the wall across from him. The positioning is out of place inside a house instead of in a back alley somewhere, but Patrick’s confidence manages to make everything look natural. “You know, when Tash told me you’d agreed to this I was sure she was full of shit.”

Art tries to smile, knows it ends up as more of a grimace. Gives it up after just a second and lets his face go flat again. “Then why’d you come?”

Patrick’s downright beaming now, folding his arms over his chest, shoulders loose. It feels like the more uncomfortable Art is, the more delighted Patrick becomes. “Why’d you say I could?”

“I asked first.”

Patrick laughs, and Art feels like it’s ten years ago and they’re just kids talking about a terrible first date that Art wasted a Friday on, not two men on the wrong side of thirty about to fuck the same woman. About to fuck Art’s fucking wife.

Jesus. Why did he ever agree to this?

“Really, Art?” Tashi says, rolling her eyes in a way that Art has come to recognize as teasing. “Are you fucking twelve? I asked first – I can’t believe you two.”

“Both of us?” Patrick teases, turning his head towards Tashi but keeping eye-contact with Art. “I didn’t do a thing. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet, and you’re already that fed up?”

“Because of you,” Art corrects, beginning to chew nervously on his gum again. “You’re the only new variable here.”

“Well, maybe you’re the one who used up all her patience, huh?”

“That’s not–”

“Boys,” Tashi interrupts, one of each of her hands gripping their shoulders. Art can feel her nails wrinkling the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He forces his shoulders to loosen as much as he can. “If you can’t play nice before we’re even in the bedroom, you won’t be playing at all. Yeah?”

Patrick glances between Tashi and Art, smile sharp and knowing. He doesn’t answer.

Art shifts so he’s standing straight up, arms still crossed protectively over his chest. “‘Course, Tashi,” he repeats again, his life’s mantra these days. “Anything you want.”

But Tashi’s not looking at him, she’s giving that same piercing, demanding look to Patrick. Art’s not sure it’ll work as well for her with him, but then Patrick laughs and uncrosses his arms, and Art’s not sure about much of anything.

“Happy wife, happy life, right man?” Patrick says. Ten years ago Art would’ve said his tone was affectionately teasing. Now it just sounds mean. “Anything you want, Tash. You want me and the hubby here to play nice, I’m sure we can manage it. Right, Art?”

Art’s gum is tasteless and stretched thin, but he knows that chewing it feels better than punching Patrick would right now. “Right.”

“Alright then,” Tashi says, nodding like they’ve actually managed to resolve anything. “Let’s go.”

Patrick stares at Tashi’s ass as she walks down the hallway. Art thinks again about punching him and toys with the gum between a one sharp canine and a molar. 

Before he can turn away to follow his wife to their bedroom (to have another man fuck her, oh God, how has Art’s life brought him here?), a hand appears beneath his chin, palm up.

Art looks up at Patrick, and feels again ten years younger. His knee throbs in phantom pain. He doesn’t move.

“Well?” Patrick pushes, lifting his hand more so the skin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers is pushing against Art’s chin. 

He spits the gum out. Makes sure to soak Patrick’s hand with his saliva too, just to be a dick. Patrick’s smile only grows, and he dumps the little wadded up ball in a tiny trash-can Tashi keeps under all the tables. 

Patrick slaps Art’s cheek a few times, a little too rough to be friendly, a little too soft to be mean, and follows after Tashi. “Still as obedient as ever, huh?”

Art’s glad Patrick’s back is turned, because he’s not sure he could force down the way his face twists and this whole situation is already humiliating enough. He swipes quickly at his cheek with one sleeve pulled over his hand, trying to get all of his own spit off of his face. His chest is tight and his cheeks burn, but he turns to follow Patrick anyway.

Anything for Tashi, he repeats to himself again. You can’t let her leave, not over something this stupid. If watching Patrick fuck her is what keeps your marriage together, then so be it.

His pep talk doesn’t make it any easier to see Patrick spread out on his bed like a king, Tashi moving an armchair from the corner of their bedroom – their bedroom, because Patrick is on their bed – to just a few feet away from the bed. 

“Took your time,” Tashi comments, giving Art a look that says I’m not in the mood for your shit right now, Donaldson. Art chooses to ignore it, and Tashi chooses to let him get away with ignoring it. 

A marriage is made up of sacrifices. Tashi sacrifices her patience, and apparently Art sacrifices his wedding vows.

“You sit here,” Tashi says, patting the back of the chair as she moves towards the bed, towards Patrick. When Art doesn’t move, she gives him an expectant look, saying everything Art knows she wants to say with just the movement of her head and the angle of her eyebrows.

You said you’re fine with this.

Why aren’t you listening?

Just sit in the fucking chair, Donaldson.

You agreed already. I even double-checked with you. Stop embarrassing me.

Art sits in the chair. His hairline is already damp with sweat, even though nobody has done anything yet. He can see Tashi’s nipples through her shirt – through his shirt, because she’s always stolen his clothing. 

(Always stolen Patrick’s clothing too, a voice in his head says. Back when they were dating. And that night, when she came back home wearing a shirt you swore you saw before–

He cuts the voice off before it can say anything else.)

“We getting this started then?” Patrick says, the anticipation thick in his tone, already rubbing one hand over his crotch. Art can’t quite bring himself to look for long enough to see if he’s hard yet. He’s laid back on their pillows, legs and arms spread and his feet planted on the comforter.

Tashi doesn’t respond, but she does pull her top off. Quick and smooth, not for either of the men in the room to get a good show. The only place Tashi has ever cared about putting a good show on is the court, and Art knows tennis is the furthest thing from even her mind right now. 

Art’s hands rest on the armrests on either side of him, his fingers digging into the floral fabric as Tashi kneels on the bed, quickly crawling over to settle herself on Patrick’s lap. Patrick quickly shifts, legs falling down to the bed as he sits up more and rests his hands on Tashi’s hips.

The pale skin of Patrick’s knuckles is a beautiful contrast to Tashi’s tan skin and black panties, as much as Art hates to admit it. Patrick’s hands stroke quickly over her hips and down to her ass, trying to yank her forward. 

“Wait,” Tashi commands, hands planted firmly on Patrick’s shoulders to keep her position. “I’m not riding you. I want you to eat me out.”

Patrick groans as he immediately shifts down the bed so he’s lying on his back, hands kneading at Tashi’s ass. He shoots Art a look, smirking. “She always this demanding in bed with you?”

Tashi answers for him before Art can even open his mouth. “Don’t talk to him,” she says, twisting one hand through Patrick’s curls as she situates herself over his chest, pushing her panties down and off quickly and leaving them on the bedspread. “You have better things to be doing with your mouth.”

Art can just barely hear Patrick’s snarky “Yes ma’am,” before Tashi sits on his face, one hand planted firmly on their headboard and the other in Patrick’s hair as she starts working herself over his face.

Everything feels like it’s moving just too fast. Art’s boxers are tight, his erection straining against the tight fabric. He holds tight to the chair, unwilling to so much as brush himself and be giving away his desperation so early into what he suspects is going to be a long night. It feels like he hardly took a breath between Tashi stripping her shirt off and her fucking Patrick’s face, hips working harshly over him as the sounds of an eager tongue against a slick cunt fill the room. Art’s cock throbs between his legs. 

“Fuck,” Tashi hisses, her back arching and her head thrown back as her movements smooth out, each of her thrusts stronger against Patrick’s lips. Art knows from experience that Patrick’s lips will be numb when she pulls away, that he can hardly breathe under her. The strong line of her back is tense as she takes her hand from Patrick’s head and brings it up the front of her body, doing something that Art can’t see.

She rides him for several long minutes. Art can’t help but wonder what Patrick’s doing – Art’s always found that Tashi gets off fastest with his mouth on her cunt, it always takes more work to give her an orgasm with his cock than it does with his tongue. But Patrick’s been beneath her for far longer than Art would’ve needed.

It makes him feel a bit better, in all honesty. Tashi may have wanted to invite another man into their bed – and Art tells himself it’s not because he’s not enough for her, and he has no choice but to believe it – but at the very least, Patrick can’t make her feel as good as Art can. 

Another few minutes later, Tashi leans even more of her weight onto Patrick’s face, her legs spreading wider as the hand gripping the headboard leaves, dragging down to, Art can only assume, finish the job Patrick can’t.

“Tashi,” Art croaks, shifting forward in his chair. “I can–”

“No,” she snaps, jerking her head to the side so she can glare at him over her shoulder. Art immediately crumples back, very familiar with her no-bullshit tone. “Don’t you dare leave that chair.”

Art barely manages to trap a whine behind his teeth. He grits his jaw, nodding jerkily and rubbing his hands roughly over the armrests, his palms stinging. Patrick’s hands flex on Tashi’s ass, leaving pale red lines behind as he drags his nails down her skin. 

“Say it,” Tashi insists, her movements losing their rhythm. Art knows she’s getting closer and closer to the edge from the way her thighs and ass clench, and he knows he could get her there, he just knows it. “Tell us you’ll listen or get the fuck out.”

Art’s panting, open-mouthed. “I’ll listen,” he repeats. “I won’t leave the chair.”

She grunts in recognition, shoulders hunching in and hitching with her breaths. “Then shut the fuck up.”

Art’s eyes sting with tears. He’s harder than he’s been in years. Tashi doesn’t bother to quiet her noises as she comes, throws her head back and lets her mouth hang open, moans and keens flowing freely. Art wants to kiss her so fucking badly, he aches with it.

After a long moment of hovering over his face, Tashi finally falls to the side of Patrick, both of them panting, ribs pressed together.

“Fucking finally,” Patrick sighs, his chest heaving even faster than Tashi’s and the bottom half of his face covered in her slick. Even his nose is shiny. Jealousy makes Art’s stomach cramp and his jaw is starting to ache from how tight he’s clenching his teeth. “You used to be easier to get off, you know.”

Art nearly flinches.

Tashi only scoffs, stretching her legs out languidly and her arms above her head, like a sated cat. “You’ve never been any good at eating pussy, I just used to lie to make you feel better.”

Patrick props himself up on one elbow, eyebrows furrowed in offense. “Really?” 

Tashi gives him a look like he’s an idiot. “Duh. You’re terrible with your tongue. Clumsy and selfish.” She smirks and pats his cheek condescendingly, and Art can see the way her nails dig divots into his cheeks. His fingers twitch. “Don’t worry, I’ll train you in this too.”

Patrick mimics her smile mockingly before turning his head enough to nip at her fingers, following her when she pulls back with a yelp and a snicker. Patrick crawls over her, His own chest shaking with his laughs as he presses their nude chests together.

Art can hardly breathe.

“Well, I know at least one way to make you feel good. Without any training,” Patrick says. Art can’t see his face or Tashi’s from this angle, just the lithe line of Patrick’s body covering hers and her knees coming up on either side of his hips. He can just barely see the shine of her cunt, with Patrick’s leaking cock bobbing right in front of it.

They look so good, Art can’t quite choke back his whine. Watching Patrick pump his hips, his cock slotting perfectly between Tashi’s swollen lips as he coats himself in her. He can hear the slick sound of it, can see the way Tashi’s toes curl against Patrick’s back.

They’re still speaking, but too quietly for Art to make out their exact words. He can hear the way Patrick’s voice curls up in that mocking-teasing-affectionate way Art used to be so familiar with, can hear the husky rumble of Tashi’s as she uses her hold on his shoulders to work her hips against his. Art’s breaths are loud and wet in his own ears, and his cock has its own heartbeat. 

“Need my fingers?” Patrick asks, pulling his head up. From the way he’s panting, Art can tell he and Tashi had been kissing. “Or are you already wet enough, huh?”

“Just fuck me, you asshole.”

Patrick laughs, a rough sound but so happy it’s palpable. “Yes, ma’am.”

Art sinks down in his chair a little further. He tells himself it’s to ease the pressure on his balls, but the new position gives him a perfect angle of Patrick’s cock disappearing inside of Tashi. He runs his tongue over his teeth, his eyes wet.

“Fuck,” Patrick moans, his head thrown back as his balls settle against the split of Tashi’s body. “God, you’re still so fucking tight. Does he not fuck you good enough? Your hubby over there not giving it to you right?”

Art blinks rapidly, his lashes clumping together.

“Don’t talk about him,” Tashi groans, dragging her nails down Patrick’s freckled back and leaving streaks of pink in her wake. 

“God, shit, Tashi,” Patrick huffs, working his hips just a bit, pulling out only a few inches and pushing himself back in. Art can’t see much more than his balls, and he feels bereft without a look at his wife’s cunt. “If you don’t want to talk about him, why do you get so much tighter when I bring him up?”

Art can’t hold back his whine this time, the sound of it loud and high, breaking halfway through. “Tashi,” he pleads, feeling more desperate right now than he ever has before.

He can see that Patrick’s really fucking Tashi now, pulling out more fully before bottoming out again. Patrick’s hips snap forward harshly, dragging matching moans from his and Tashi’s throats. Neither of them acknowledge Art’s sounds. 

Patrick drops to one elbow, his other hand creeping between their chests to do something Art can’t see. Whatever it is pulls a high-pitched moan Tashi’s chest, a sound Art knows is entirely involuntary. 

“Do that again,” she orders, tapping Patrick on the back a few times. Her other hand drags down his back until she can grab his ass, doing her best to guide him into fucking her the way she wants. She moans again a moment later, the sound full of heat and passion and so much pleasure. “Good, that’s so good. Good boy.”

Art whines again, jerking forward in his chair. He knows first-hand just how stingy his wife is with praise – it took weeks for her to call him a good boy in bed for the first time, endless lessons on exactly how he could make her feel best, hours spent with his face buried between her thighs or his cock stuffed in her cunt, Tashi playing a sick game of red-light-green-light to show him exactly how she liked to be fucked.

Patrick fucks her for the first time in a decade, and he gets more praise than Art’s gotten this month. It makes Art’s stomach twist and his dick twitch in his boxers.

Patrick snorts at Tashi’s praise, pushing himself back up on two hands and slowing his hips so he’s thrusting more deeply, a little more force behind each push. “Good boy?” He pants, head falling enough that Art can see the top of Tashi’s head. “Since when do you say shit like that in bed?”

Tashi’s nails are digging so deeply into Patrick’s ass that Art almost thinks she’ll make him bleed. He almost hopes she does. “Stop fucking talking about him!” She nearly shouts, her voice strained. “I’m close.”

Art’s nearly drooling. He presses his hands tight to his hard dick through his pants, eyes rolling back in his head at the relief it gives him. 

Patrick manages to keep his mouth shut now, fucking into Tashi’s cunt a little faster, a little messier. The muscles in his back and ass flex with every thrust, and Art thinks briefly that he wants to run his tongue over the hills and valleys appearing there. The thought slips away when Patrick pushes himself up just a little more, taking Tashi’s body with him and letting Art see the way her cunt is absolutely dripping wet.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Art is on his feet, then kneeling on the bed and lowering himself to his stomach, squirming closer to them. One hand grips Patrick’s calf as he slides himself between his spread knees, heartbeat ticking somehow fast when he hears Patrick’s ensuing groan. 

Art’s chest slides against the sweat-damp sheets, and he breathes deeply enough that he can nearly taste the mix of Patrick and Tashi on his tongue. There’s hardly any room beneath Patrick, but he obligingly kneels even further up on his knees to make room for Art. Art nudges forward enough that he can dart his tongue out and reach Tashi, Patrick’s balls dragging across his forehead and scalp.

He can’t help but moan at the first taste of her, his sound almost drowning out the near-yelp from Tashi herself. He strains to lick around where she’s stretched on Patrick’s cock, all three of them moaning at the contact. She tastes like ambrosia on his tongue, sweet enough that he can almost ignore the heat of Patrick’s thighs on either side of him. 

“Fuck!” He hears her curse, and his eyes neary roll back. Art’s licking Patrick’s cock as much as he is Tashi’s cunt, but he can’t bring himself to care. The euphoria of just being with her, touching her again is enough to drown out the feelings he can’t quite decipher about Patrick. 

Art manages to wiggle forward another few precious inches, pressing his tongue flat to the crease between cunt and thigh, lapping at sweat and slick. He tries to nose high enough to reach her clit, can’t quite manage it in the tiny space he has beneath Patrick.

“Get off,” he suddenly hears Tashi growl. Patrick grunts above him, whining about something, and a moment later there’s a foot on his shoulder.

He reaches one hand up to stroke the top of Tashi’s foot, but she just shoves him back with as much force as she can nearly when she’s bent in half. Art makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan, and the foot moves up to shove at his cheek instead.

“Tashi,” he moans, turning to mouth at her toes. She ignores his kisses completely, instead planting her heel solidly on his forehead and shoving him back.

The sound that rips from Art is so pathetic, it makes the first tear finally streak down his cheek. He paws it away with the back of his hand, looking up at Tashi where she’s looking at him around Patrick’s shoulder.

“What are you doing?” She sneers, digging a hand into Patrick’s hair and guiding his mouth down to her chest. Art can hear the sound of his lips against her breast. He works his hips against the sheets, just once, giving himself enough pressure that he can’t help but moan.

“Are you humping the bed?” Tashi asks, shock and what he thinks might be disgust loud in her tone. He presses the side of his face into the bed, lowering himself as much as possible to look up at her in supplication. Patrick’s hips work slowly as he grinds himself inside of her, but Tashi’s expression doesn’t even twitch. “Fucking pathetic. Can’t listen to a single order and you’re so needy that you won’t even use your own hand.”

“I’m sorry,” he whines, worming one hand beneath his stomach and pressing it against his cock. It makes his face go a little numb, so much pleasure after so long denying himself. “You just- he wasn’t getting you off.”

Patrick makes an offended noise but Tashi just pushes him further into her, not letting him get even a centimeter of space between his lips and her skin. Art thinks he might hear Patrick rumbling, but it isn’t anything close to words.

“I don’t need you to get me off,” Tashi huffs, and Art bites back a whine when he sees her hips start working against Patrick’s again, giving him more room to fuck her better. “There’s a reason I told him to fuck me and told you to stay in that chair.”

“I can make you feel good,” Art swears, fighting to keep his eyes from screwing up as he beats his own dick. Tashi is still looking at him, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of eye contact with her. “Promise, Tash, I can be good for you.”

Patrick finally pulls his head away from Tashi’s nipple, turning enough that Art can see his eyes over his shoulder. “Well, I see why you started talking like that.” He’s making eye contact with Art but his words are for Tashi. “You’re not being a very good boy right now, are you Art?”

God, Art hates the way he moans at that, but he can’t help but want Patrick to just keep talking. His dick kicks up in his hand, even pressed against the bed as he is. 

“Oh, you like that,” Patrick nearly purrs, his tone far too close to sensual for the cocksure man Art has always known him to be. “You really are pathetic, huh?”

Art whines, hips working erratically into the sheets. He squirms just a bit closer on his stomach, not daring to lift himself even an inch. Patrick laughs and kicks back with one foot, clipping Art’s shoulder and sending him sliding back several inches. He grasps the sheets desperately with one hand, feeling for all the world like a kicked dog.

“Get on the floor,” Tashi commands, turning away from Art and running her hands over Patrick’s shoulder until she can wrap her arms around his neck. “You’re ruining the mood.”

(Somewhere deep in his mind, Art knows that isn’t true. He knows it isn’t true because he can’t help but cry out at Tashi’s dismissal, and immediately after the sound rips from his throat both she and Patrick moan. He knows they’re getting off on torturing him, but that doesn’t stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks as he desperately humps the bed.)

When Art doesn’t move, Patrick shoots him a snide glance. “You heard her. On the floor, where you belong.”

Art’s hardly breathing as he forces himself to slide back, the fabric against his skin suddenly burning. His knees knock when he finally stands, and he practically falls into the chair as he stumbles backward, unable to tear his eyes away from the flex of Patrick’s ass.

He’s slumped low over Tashi again, covering almost her entire body with his. Art tries his best to get a glimpse of her, but the most he can see are her arms, knees, and Patrick’s balls and taint.

“Patrick, stop – Art!” Tashi suddenly snaps, and Art jerks to attention. Patrick freezes above her, pushing himself up so their torsos are fully separated and he can turn to look at Art. He guiltly tears his eyes away from Patrick’s swaying balls and to Tashi’s eyes where she’s glaring over his shoulder, unable to believe he missed her gaze in the first place. “Are you stupid?”

Art blinks at her, looking all the idiot she accuses him of being. “Huh?”

Tashi rolls her eyes. “I told you to get on the floor. Are you on the floor right now?”

Art shakes his head slowly, frozen in her gaze.

Tashi only cocks an eyebrow expectantly.

Art slides to his knees in front of the bed, lips trembling. He curls his hands around the footboard, gripping as tight as he can to keep himself still. From this low of an angle he can see Tashi’s cunt again, can see the slick smeared on her thighs and the vein running along the bottom of Patrick’s cock.

“Finally. Now stay,” Tashi commands, falling back to her back and pulling Patrick over her. “Ignore him. If I don’t get off soon, I’m kicking you out.”

Patrick laughs, and Art can hear the kiss they share. “You haven’t gotten less demanding, that’s for sure.”

There aren’t any more words shared between them, not that Art can hear at least, as Patrick plants his hands on either side of Tashi’s head and starts to thrust inside of her at a consistent, quick pace. He fucks with all the confidence he carries on the court, movements sure and practiced as he keeps himself at the exact angle that’s jerking moans and whines from Tashi.

It takes a while for her to finish, still. Only a few minutes into their new pace, Patrick’s groans start drowning out Tashi’s. Art watches as his old friend falls to his elbows again, then even further as he buries a hand between their bodies, presumably to work at Tashi’s clit.

It’s hardly a minute after that when Tashi comes. Art can’t see her face but he knows the exact expression she’s making – eyes squeezed tight, lips curled back to show her teeth, eyebrows pinched, looking more like she’s in pain than exquisite pleasure. He could probably count on one hand the amount of times he hasn’t been looking at her face when she comes, he loves nothing more than the sight of his wife surrendering to the pleasure he’s giving her.

To know that it’s another man giving her an orgasm, an orgasm that Art can’t even properly see…

It makes his cock throb and his eyes water. The only thing keeping him from jacking himself off along with Patrick is the sense of shame burning bright in his stomach.

Patrick is loud when he comes. Art remembers that, from dark nights in shared rooms filled with feelings he’s spent years repressing. He remembers the way Patrick’s voice had cracked on a moan, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head when he hears it again now.

They’re all silent once Patrick pulls out of Tashi, falling to his back beside her in a mirror image of how they laid earlier. The loudest sound in the room is Art’s panting breaths, but the buzz in his head nearly drowns it out for him, and he’s miles away from composed enough to try and hide his desperation.

Art leans forward just enough to rest his chin on the footboard, chest pressed against the cool wood. He lifts up just enough that his cock is pressed against it too, albeit with his sweatpants keeping him from actually feeling it. 

Tashi’s splayed like a starfish on her back, limbs akimbo in a way that would unflattering on anyone else, but somehow looks perfectly posed on her. Her legs are spread enough that Art can see the mix of her slick and Patrick’s come dripping slowly out of her. He feels a little faint at the sight, saliva gathering beneath his tongue. 

Patrick’s laid back on the pillows, reclining instead of laying down. His cock is soft and wet against his thigh, limp and satisfied like the rest of him. When Art looks over at him, he catches Patrick already staring. His gaze is intense enough that Art can feel his cheeks flame hot, feel his cock throb in response where it’s trapped between wood and skin. 

He feels like he should say something, but can’t quite bring himself to, his gaze sliding back over to Tashi’s body. She’s sleeping now, he can tell by the slow rise and fall of her chest and by the fact that she hasn’t sat up and started shooting off commands again.

“Art, c’mere,” Patrick bids, jerking his head towards Tashi’s prone form. Art glances at him, wide-eyed and mute. Patrick’s lips are curled up in a smile that Art hates that he can still read even all these years later – he looks satisfied, and so painfully affectionate. The tightness in Art’s chest eases, just a bit. He doesn’t move though, only glances between his wife and Patrick.

“Come on,” Patrick encourages, reaching over just enough to pat Tashi’s thigh enticingly. She shifts a bit in her sleep, making a low sound and spreading her legs even more. “One of us should clean her up, and I’m exhausted.”

Art knows it’s a lie. Patrick’s already cupping his balls with the hand not on Tashi’s thigh, rolling them in his palm idly. But Art can still taste the hint of pussy he got earlier, and he’s too desperate to care about Patrick’s pity. 

It’s easy to haul himself over the footboard, keeping himself on his stomach to satisfy some animal instinct that demands he keep himself small. He keeps his hands underneath his body, tucked in front of his chest as he lays himself in front of his wife’s thoroughly fucked cunt, watching with awe as her hole winks at him.

“Pretty, huh?” Patrick rumbles, and a moment later Art feels a hand comb through his hair. He jerks back at the contact, looking over at his old friend with wide eyes and pushing away just enough to be out of his reach. Patrick only rolls his eyes, leaning forward enough to get a good grip in Art’s hair and yanking him until his cheek rests on Tashi’s thigh.

Art whines quietly, blinking rapidly with wide eyes up at Patrick, who just smirks and softens his hold, running his hand through Art’s hair. “Quiet, you’re fine. We both know you like a little manhandling.”

Art closes his eyes for a moment, forcing his gaze back to Tashi when they open.

“Like a little more than that too, huh?” Patrick goes on, fingers not hesitating for even a moment as Art flinches. Part of him wants to speak up in defense of himself, but words feel miles away from his reach right now. “Wish I would’ve known that, before. Might’ve actually gotten to fuck you if I’d known I just had to be a little mean.”

“Patrick,” Art breathes, squirming forward more so he can bury his nose in Tashi’s stomach, tongue darting out to taste her sweat-soaked skin. 

“Art,” Patrick mocks, scratching Art’s scalp with dull nails, just on the wrong side of rough. “You know I’m right. It’s why you’re quiet right now – either that, or all the blood in your brain is between your legs.”

Art lets one arm creep up, wrapping around Tashi’s waist so he can force himself as close to her as possible. He sinks a little lower again, nosing at the crease of her thigh. He can smell the mix of her and Patrick still dripping between her legs, and his tongue darts out instinctively. For the first time in his life, he’s disappointed to taste Tashi’s sweat.

“So go on,” Patrick encourages, pushing Art’s head even lower with the heel of her palm. “Clean her up. Then you can pass out.”

Art doesn’t wait any longer for permission, burying his face in Tashi’s folds. Her clit in his mouth, his tongue in her hole offers him the mercy he’s needed all night. Everything else fades away with her taste drowning him – he’s not so hard he hurts, he can’t feel Patrick tugging on his earlobe, his bicep isn’t squeezing Tashi’s thigh, he’s just a pair of lips and a tongue put here to make one woman feel good.

Tashi’s always careful with how responsive she is, only rewarding Art with moans and touches when he’s particularly good with his mouth. But in her sleep she’s limp, only the occasional moan slipping unrestrained from her chest. It’s heaven.

“She taste good?” He hears Patrick ask distantly, and he’s got enough of his wits about him to nod into Tashi, dipping lower so he can fully tongue her hole with his nose brushing her clit. 

He can fully taste Patrick now, the salty tang of his cum coating Art’s tongue. He moans as the taste mixes with Tashi’s, eyes rolling back as he shoves himself as far into her as he can get.

He hooks his other arm underneath her leg, hitching her up just enough that he can almost shove himself down and into her, trying his best to mimic fucking her with his tongue. He knows she won’t be bothered by him eating her out, but she’d never let him fuck her with her in some form of control. He so rarely gets to do what he wants with her body, the treat of it is almost worth the show he had to watch to get it.

Art moans into her, drunk as he laps at her desperately, cleaning every inch of her he can reach with his tongue. He licks broad stripes from hole to clit, coating his taste buds in Tashi and Patrick. They’re all he can taste, and the bliss he feels is overwhelming.

“Man, you are gone,” Patrick says, laughing affectionately. He scratches behind Art’s ear lightly, and Art can’t help but lean into the contact. “Can you even breathe in there?”

Not really, but Art doesn’t mind. He doesn’t need to breathe right now, not with unrestricted free access to his wife’s cunt for what’s probably the first time in their entire marriage. 

“You don’t even care about your dick, do you?” Patrick continues. “You’re hard as a rock, man, I can see it through your pants. But you’re not even humping the bed anymore.”

Art whines, flushing. His eyes flutter open for just a moment, glancing lazily at Patrick before he gets another rush of his taste and his eyes roll shut again. The hand on his ear shifts to his nape, helping guide him like he really is fucking Tashi with his tongue.

“Guess it’s good that you’re not too bothered. I’m not getting you off and risking Tashi’s wrath in the morning. Maybe if you give her those puppy dog eyes she’ll finish you off in the morning, huh?”

A part of Art wants to cry at the thought of going to sleep without relief, and another part relishes in just the idea of waiting for Tashi’s permission to come. She’s always a little softer with him when he follows her lead, and the bedroom is far from the exception to that.

Tashi’s breath hitches as Art focuses in on her clit, her moans cracking as her hips work subconsciously against his face. Art is happy to follow her lead, going where she guides him and relishing in the way he noises only kick up higher and louder. 

He can tell the moment she comes because the rush of her taste washes away Patrick’s completely. A few tears slip down Art’s face as she humps him, locking his mouth over her hole to make sure he doesn’t miss a drop of her pleasure. 

He keeps licking at her, sucking on her clit and breathing her scent in deep, until Patrick gets a hold on his hair again and tugs him off.

“Alright, you’re done,” Patrick says, ignoring Art’s bereft whimper and forcing his cheek back to Tashi’s thigh. “You put on a good show, but we don’t want her waking up and getting all bossy again, do we?”

Art would like nothing more, actually, but he doesn’t have it in him to do anything more than blink dumbly up at Patrick. With Tashi’s orgasm fresh on his tongue, he finds all of his worries slipping away. His cock is still hard and sore between his legs, but it’s a distant sort of feeling, one he finds himself capable of ignoring. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a bit, basking in the scent of Tashi and the feel of a heavy hand on his head.

“You gonna sleep down there?”

Art lifts his head at Patrick’s question, dragging himself away from the brink of sleep. “What?”

Patrick shifts closer to Tashi, rolling her onto her side and subsequently forcing Art to back up even further, until he’s on his stomach at the foot of the bed. Patrick tucks himself close behind Tashi, lifting her head so she can use one bicep of his as a pillow. 

Patrick looks over at Art expectantly, reaching back to pat the bit of empty mattress behind him. There’s really not much room, since Tashi’s still in the center of the bed, but there’s some. 

“Come up here,” Patrick says, turning to wrap himself fully around Tashi and laying his head down, eyes closing. She shifts to the side a bit, laying on her stomach with her arm and leg laid out to take up the rest of the bed.

Art can tell that he fully intends to go to sleep, regardless of what Art chooses to do.

He briefly considers staying where he is, curled up at the foot of the bed like a spoiled dog. He pushes that thought away quickly, with a quick flare of panic at the way his cock kicks up at the image. 

He could crawl on Tashi’s other side, tuck himself into her. But Tashi’s always been a bed hog, and always been particular about personal space at night. At least once a month Art wakes up to her kicking and shoving him back over to his side of the bed after he got a little too clingy in his sleep, her hair a bird’s nest but her glare just as fiery as always. He figures if he’s got any chance of earning an orgasm in the morning, it’s not going to come from an annoyed Tashi.

Art reluctantly drags his limbs up behind Patrick, forced to stretch his legs out straight so that he’s not curling them behind Patrick’s. His shirt and sweatpants stick to his skin from sweat, but he refuses to press himself skin-to-skin to Patrick like that.

He shifts over to his side so that he’s not on the very edge of the bed, one hand resting on the pillow. Just as he settles a bit, feels his heart rate finally begin to slow, he hears Patrick’s voice.

“Can you not, man?”

Art tenses again. “What?” He whispers, like they’re kids at tennis camp again and he doesn’t want to get caught awake after light’s out.

“I can feel your dick on my ass, Art. Hard to fall asleep with that.”

Art is on his back again before he can even blink, breaths hitching. He has to fold his hands over his stomach to keep one from hanging off the edge

“Thanks,” Patrick hums, and Art can feel him shift his hips back a little bit. His ass rests against Art’s thigh now.

“No problem,” Art manages, though his whisper is shaky.

He stares up at the smooth ceiling, simultaneously more exhausted than he’s felt since he retired and kicked up on so much energy that he feels like he’ll never fall asleep.

Patrick’s breaths deepen beside him, and a moment later soft snores fill the room. Art closes his eyes and smiles, safe in the dark. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

He counts his breaths, times them to match with Patrick’s. He does his damndest to ignore the erection tenting his pants. He thinks of morning orgasms and his beautiful wife, sleep-soft and mild before the day’s responsibilities settle over her.