#same time

It should’ve been a joke.

Breakfast in the Slytherin common room always buzzed with the easy arrogance of survival — seventh years lounging in half-buttoned shirts, steam rising from teacups, laughter sharper than the clink of cutlery. Pansy was draped over the arm of the sofa, her hair immaculate despite the hour, nails painted the same poison-green as her tie. She tapped those nails against the rim of her china cup as if the entire table were her stage.

“You couldn’t even dream of it,” she purred, eyes glittering with mischief. “Theo and Mattheo at the same time? Please. You’d cry uncle before they even started.”

The boys snorted around their toast and pumpkin juice. Blaise nearly choked from laughing too hard, Draco muttered something about Pansy being insufferable as usual, and Mattheo — sprawled with his boots on the table — smirked lazily, like he didn’t mind his cock being the centerpiece of conversation. Theo, of course, only arched a brow from behind his book, his hand tightening on the inside of your thigh.

The whole thing should’ve rolled off you like every other one of Pansy’s dramatic little digs. But her words lodged somewhere deep, curling tight in your chest. Because maybe it wasn’t impossible. Maybe it wasn’t laughable. Maybe the thought of being caught between your boyfriends — Theo with his control, Mattheo with his chaos — made heat stir low in your stomach instead of embarrassment.

And now here you were. In their dorm. Heart pounding, thighs pressed tight together, with both of your boyfriends staring at you like you’d lost your mind.

The curtains of Theo’s bed were drawn back, candlelight throwing sharp shadows across his cheekbones, his book tossed aside for once. Mattheo lounged half-sprawled in his desk chair, curls a mess, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the bruises he still hadn’t let you heal from Quidditch.

Both of them were yours. Everyone knew it by now — the way Theo held your hand absentmindedly under the table while Mattheo kissed your throat shamelessly above it, the way you slipped into their dorm more often than not and didn’t reemerge until morning. But never together. Well, not like this.

Your throat worked as you whispered it. “I want both of you.” The silence was deafening. Theo blinked once, lips parting, while Mattheo actually laughed — low, disbelieving, tipping his head back in that careless way that made your chest ache.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, smirk sharp, “you’re joking.”

Except you weren’t. You could feel it written across your face, in the heat crawling up your neck, in the way your fingers twisted in the hem of your skirt.

Theo sat forward, his gaze cutting through the room, assessing, weighing. He studied you the way he always did, like he could unravel your thoughts with just his eyes. “She’s not.”

Mattheo’s laughter died in his throat, his smirk faltering when he caught the honesty in Theo’s voice — and in yours, the way you looked at them both like you’d never wanted anything more.

His chair creaked as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes dark and hungry now. “You want us both at the same time?” His tongue flicked against his teeth, disbelief softening into something far more dangerous.

“Baby, you don’t have to let Pansy pressure you into this.” Theo’s voice was steady, soft in the way only he could be when the rest of the world was loud. His hand reached out, tugging you gently between his open thighs. The heat of him seeped through the fabric of your skirt, grounding you, while his thumb stroked a slow line against your hip.

“I’m not,” you whispered, breath catching. His scent — smoke and expensive soap — filled your head, made your resolve stronger. You tilted your chin, glancing past his shoulder to where Mattheo was watching, dark eyes locked on you like a predator who’d just realized the prey wasn’t running.

Theo didn’t laugh. He just tilted his head, gaze unreadable, and closed his book with a quiet snap. “Do you know what you’re asking for, sweetheart?” His voice was velvet, but his eyes burned. “Mattheo and I aren’t… gentle together.”

Your pulse stuttered, heat prickling up your spine, but you didn’t look away. “I know,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “I want it anyway.”

Behind you, Mattheo let out a sharp exhale — half disbelief, half arousal — and leaned forward on his elbows, forearms braced on his knees. His grin was crooked, dangerous. “Fuck, you’re serious.” He dragged a hand through his curls, shaking his head like he was trying to wake himself from a dream. “Pansy’s going to combust when she finds out.”

Theo shot him a warning glance, then refocused on you. His long fingers traced idle circles against your hip, deceptively calm. “You’re Mattheo’s girl,” he murmured, his thumb pressing into the soft curve of your waist. “And mine. Which means if we do this, you don’t get to shy away from the truth. You say it. You look at us and tell us exactly what you want.”

The challenge in his words sent a shiver through you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out — not until Mattheo leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Go on, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Tell us how you want you want us.”

You shifted where you stood between Theo’s knees, nerves buzzing under your skin. His book still sat closed on the side table, his hand heavy at your waist, his gaze too steady. You swallowed, leaned into him just enough, and whispered, “Please, Teddy?”

Theo’s jaw flexed. He could deny anyone else in the world — but not you, not when you looked at him like that, all puppy-dog eyes and trembling lips. His fingers tightened, dragging you closer until your knees brushed the armchair. He didn’t answer right away, but you saw the decision flicker across his face.

For a moment, they just looked at you — at their girl, asking to be split open, ruined in a way no one else had ever dared. Mattheo’s smirk was all teeth. He stood, already tugging at his belt, eyes dark with hunger. “C’mere, princess. Let’s see if you can back that mouth up.”

Theo was the one to start you slow. He always was. He stripped you carefully, unhurried, his knuckles grazing your skin like he had all the time in the world. Every button undone, every piece of clothing peeled away, was another chance for his fingers to linger, for his mouth to press a lazy kiss against your shoulder, your collarbone, your throat. By the time he drew you into his lap, you were already trembling.

Your thighs spread wide across his, knees digging into the mattress as he held your hips steady. He was warm everywhere, broad hands tracing the dip of your spine as he aligned himself at your slick entrance. His lips brushed your ear when he spoke, voice low enough to make you shiver.

“Breathe, sweetheart. You know I’ll take care of you.”

The stretch made your head fall back against his shoulder, a gasp spilling from your lips as he filled you inch by inch, never rushing, never forcing. Theo groaned quietly, his breath catching as he sank deeper, his hands locking around your waist to keep you grounded.

From the edge of the bed, Mattheo watched with dark, hungry eyes, belt forgotten on the floor. His hand raked through his curls as his lips curled into that familiar, wolfish grin. “Merlin, you look good like that,” he rasped. “But don’t get too comfortable, baby. You’ve still got me to take.”

And then he pushed. Thick, relentless, filling you until your nails carved crescents into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you gasped, back arching, body stretching around him. Theo’s hands came up to caress your hip, rubbing comforting circles as if he was nervous for you.

Every inch slid deeper until you were seated fully in his lap, thighs trembling against his. His breath caught, his own composure slipping as he groaned against the back of your neck. “That’s it,” Theo whispered, lips ghosting your shoulder. “Every inch.”

In front of you, you watch the mattress dip. Mattheo had finally moved, his weight pressing into the bed as he crawled closer, his heat brushing against your chest. His hand smoothed down your neck, soothing for all of a second before he gave your breast a sharp squeeze.

“Beautiful,” he muttered darkly, dragging the head of his cock along your slick folds, the motion making you whimper on Theo’s lap. “Split open on him, and you’re still dripping for more. Greedy little thing.”

Theo’s lips brushed your hair, but his eyes locked on Mattheo’s over your shoulder — a silent exchange, practiced, protective. “Go slow,” Theo warned.

Mattheo only smirked, teeth flashing. “Don’t I always?”

Mattheo’s hand slid under your hip, firm and insistent. “Turn,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot, teasing. You tilted back slightly, confusion flickering before Theo’s grip steadied your waist, guiding you. Slowly, carefully, you shifted so your back was flush against Mattheo’s chest, legs straddling Theo’s lap.

Now you were sandwiched between them perfectly — Theo’s cock buried deep inside you, steady and slow, while Mattheo’s hardness pressed into your back, the tip teasing just at the entrance he’d planned to claim. His hands found your hips, holding you firmly against him, while Theo’s hands stayed on your waist and thighs, grounding you.

Mattheo’s breath was hot at your shoulder as he slicked himself with spit. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your other entrance, and your body went taut. Mattheo groaned low. “Merlin, she’s so tight back here.”

Theo’s hands squeezed your hips, thumbs brushing over your clit in rhythm with each tiny, deliberate grind of his hips. “Easy, baby… let it happen,” he murmured, voice ragged, grounding you even as your whole body trembled.

Mattheo’s fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against him. “I’ll take it slow doll,” he whispered, the teasing edge in his tone making heat coil low in your belly. With one deliberate push that was not slow at all, he pressed inside, and you gasped, back arching impossibly as Theo’s cock pulsed deep inside you.

The combination was dizzying — Theo’s steady, almost gentle thrusts keeping you present, every inch measured, while Mattheo’s rough, hungry entry made your head spin and chest ache with need.

The stretch was brutal, white-hot, a cry tearing out of you as he breached you inch by inch. “Breathe,” Theo commanded softly, pressing his forehead to yours, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips. His cock filled you perfectly, steady and insistent, grounding you even as your muscles clenched around him.

Mattheo pressed from behind, slick and ready, pushing just enough to tease your back entrance without forcing, brushing the tip along your wet folds. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, the sound vibrating through your spine, sending sparks of heat down to your core. “So fucking perfect for me…”

Theo groaned at the sound, rocking gently into you, each slow thrust coaxing a shudder from your body. “You feel so good, baby. So good for both of us. Mine,” he whispered, catching your gaze, “and his. Only ours.”

Mattheo pressed closer, hands on your hips, dragging you flush against him. “Take it, baby,” he murmured against your ear. “You love it, don’t you? Taking both of us at once.”

The combination — Theo’s steady, grounding pace and Mattheo’s sharp, relentless edge — was dizzying. Every inch, every thrust, every brush of teeth against skin, made your head spin and your body cry out, clinging to them, trembling, lost entirely in the two of them.

Your whole body trembled, pinned between them, filled to the point of breaking. And then they moved.

Theo’s hips rocked slow and deliberate, each inch sending fire curling through your core, while Mattheo pressed in from behind, hard and relentless, dragging you flush against him. The combination of their bodies — one measured, grounding, the other sharp and hungry — had your head spinning, nails digging into Theo’s shoulders as your back arched, pressing into Mattheo’s chest.

“God, you feel so good,” Theo groaned, his voice ragged, forehead resting against yours as he sank deeper.

Your hands fisted in their hair and shoulders, trying to hold onto something as the overwhelming pleasure clawed through you. Every stroke, every press, every whispered word of praise and filthy encouragement made your body tighter, hotter, spiraling.

“Say it,” Mattheo rasped, gripping your hips so hard it left bruises. “Say our names, baby. Say you love it… say you’re ours.”

“I—I’m yours,” you moaned, voice breaking. “Both… yours… Theo… Mattheo…”

Their groans combined with yours, a symphony of lust and need, as Theo’s slow thrusts and Mattheo’s sharp, relentless movements drove you higher, pushing your body closer to the edge with every pass, every brush of teeth and skin, until it all became too much.

“Look at her,” Mattheo rasped, his grip bruising on your hips. “Split open on both of us, still begging for more.”

Your back arched impossibly, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips ground down onto him, desperate for every inch of sensation. Mattheo pressed harder from behind, tip brushing deep as he pressed into your tightness, his own groans vibrating through your spine.

Theo smirked against your throat, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin as he nipped gently. “Not so smug now, are you? Thought you’d prove Pansy wrong?”

Mattheo groaned behind you, pressing in harder, his hips snapping with deliberate force. “Lucky if you can still walk tomorrow,” he rasped, teeth grazing your shoulder. His hands gripped your hips like he was trying to mold you into him completely, and the friction of both of them — one steady, one relentless — had your vision swimming with white specks.

You gasped, hands tangling in Theo’s hair as your knees pressed harder against his thighs, body trembling. “I… I can take it… both of you,” you choked out, voice desperate and needy, heat pooling deep.

Theo’s hands slid from your hips to your thighs, spreading you further, holding you open for Mattheo. “Oh, you can, baby,” he purred.

Your answer was a strangled moan, their names tangled together on your tongue.

Mattheo’s laugh was ragged, almost disbelieving. “She’s ruined, Theo. Fucking ruined.”

Your knees trembled, hips rolling against both of them, moans and cries tangled, broken, desperate as their contrasting rhythms — Theo grounding, Mattheo relentless — tore you apart in the most delicious way.

“Ruined for anyone else,” Theo agreed, thumb pressing against your clit in cruel, perfect circles. His gaze locked on yours, steady and dark, grounding you even as Mattheo’s deep thrusts from behind made your head spin.

Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips, pressing you flush against him, whispering hot and rough against your ear. “Fucking ours, baby…we're all yours. Look at you… taking both of us so well.”

Your climax hit like fire, ripping through you as you screamed, every muscle clenching around them until they cursed in unison. Mattheo’s thrusts turned desperate, Theo’s composure cracked, and the three of you fell apart in a mess of sweat, bruises, and broken sounds.

Mattheo groaned, hips stuttering as he spilled into you from behind, hands still gripping your hips like he couldn’t let go.

You shivered, trembling between them, letting your arms wrap around Theo’s neck as Mattheo pressed into your back. Their hands roamed over you, gentle now, tracing bruised shoulders, slick thighs, and the swell of your breasts, grounding you after the storm of sensation. “God, you’re perfect,” Mattheo muttered, lips brushing your ear.

Theo chuckled softly, tired, breathless. “Never letting anyone else touch you,” he whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You sagged against them, exhausted and sated, chest heaving as you let yourself soak in the warmth, the closeness, the utter mess of being theirs. Between Theo and Mattheo, worshiped, praised, and utterly consumed, you finally felt the delicious, perfect ache of belonging completely.

“Merlin,” Mattheo panted, still trembling. “Pansy’s going to eat her fucking words.”Pansy’s words were already forgotten to you; all that mattered was the heat between you, the worship, the ownership, the utter delicious exhaustion flowing through your veins.

Theo’s lips brushed your temple, his smirk soft but smug. “Staying in my bed or Matt’s?”

Mattheo groaned from behind you, fingers drumming lazily on your hip. “Don’t even think about leaving me out, princess. You know I’ve got dibs too.”

You laughed, breathless, pressing a hand to each of their chests. “How about both?” you teased, voice still thick with the aftershocks of your shared chaos.