#triangleshipping

Logan’s body jerked when the edge of the knife caught his skin, cutting his chest open lightly. Blood welled up in small drops, but it burned like he’d been stabbed. His body moved as much as it could while he was restrained, his arms up by his sides and pulled tight enough to restrict movement. There was nowhere to go, even unable to move backwards without pressing into the headboard of his bed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in this situation and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. This was far too amusing for Eleanor, evidenced by her laughing where she straddled his lap. He wanted to blame all of this on her, but he couldn’t deny the way his cock twitched in his boxers whenever she’d leave another mark. 

None of the cuts were very deep, that had been the only condition in all this. She couldn’t cut him deep enough to leave a scar and to her credit, she’d never even gotten close. She was always careful with him, despite the inherently reckless nature of what they were doing. Somehow, she perfectly balanced the harshness of the blade with the gentleness of her hand. 

She sliced into his chest one moment, the knife shining in her hand. Blood pooled there too. Her other hand had found his cheek the next moment, though, and he leaned into her touch so easily. She was all-consuming, giving him both the pleasure and the pain he needed. 

****

“Shit,” Daniel breathed out as he pulled a needle free from Amanda’s back. 

She screamed when she did, her back tensing from the pain. Everything was so loud around them, but every noise she made was the loudest. He was as careful as he could be when he reached for one of the needles embedded in her arm. It was deep and she still cried out when he removed it. Blood pooled out of the needle wound as soon as he pulled it free and he felt lightheaded. 

Her blood was so dark and there seemed to be too much of it. He looked away, trying to hold himself together for her sake. She writhed on the floor when he continued to extract the syringes. He cringed when he felt his fingers growing sticky with blood, unsure of which was hers and which had already been on the needles. The grossness of the situation didn’t slow him down. 

Amanda’s blood stained the sleeves of his white shirt, a stark and sickening contrast. He had worn this weekly for the better part of the last year, but he knew this would be the last time he could wear it even if the stains came out. He tried to ignore the blood, glancing at Amanda’s face. 

“You’re okay,” Daniel tried to soothe her, but his voice shook and he knew he didn’t even believe it. 

Amanda cried harder on the floor and Daniel wished he knew how to help, he really did.

****

“Look up at me,” Brad encouraged as Ryan sat next to him in the uncomfortable chairs of the interrogation room. 

They sat alone for now, having been left in the room a while ago. He expected someone was still observing them through the mirror, but he tried to not let it make him nervous. His attention was on Ryan instead, eyes locked on him. He didn’t look like he was doing so well, still shaking and crying quietly. 

His head tilted back at the command, but he didn’t seem to really be there. His eyes were blank enough that it made Brad anxious. Brad’s sleeve wiped across Ryan’s face as gently as he could, the fabric likely feeling rough. It was better than nothing, he reasoned with himself, cleaning the blood away. 

Ryan hadn’t even been able to look up during what they did, burying his face into his arm instead. Brad didn’t know how he managed to get so much blood on his face at all, it seemed like it was everywhere. He didn’t care about how filthy he was getting his clothes, simply saturating the fabric as he cleaned off his cheeks and mouth. He was gentle around Ryan’s lips, making sure to clean every drop away and being delicate with him. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Brad told him, his voice quiet and shaky as he spoke to Ryan. “You’ll be able to go home and shower soon,” Ryan didn’t seem to process those words yet, though.

****

Lynn gasped as the blade dug into her thigh. It was hard enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to be a problem. Amanda had been careful about it, barely breaking skin before her mouth would replace the knife. She sucked at each wound she left. The taste of Lynn’s blood flooded her mouth, rich and thick.

Fingers tangled their way into Amanda’s hair and she forced herself closer. She knew where Lynn wanted her instead, knew that Lynn would prefer her licking into her cunt instead of at her wounds. She stayed right where she was, though, ignoring the way Lynn squirmed for her. Amanda knew she must look like a mess, blood smeared across her face and her hair messy as Lynn grabbed it. 

 “Please,” Lynn begged her and Amanda wanted to stay right where she was, but she’d always had a difficult time saying no to Lynn. Especially not about something she wanted too. 

“Whatever you want,” Amanda promised her and much to Lynn’s relief, she wasted no more time in teasing her. 

Lynn moaned softly when Amanda pressed her face deeper into her thighs and licked between her folds. Fingers tightened in her hair and held her close, but Amanda couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. The taste of Lynn’s blood overpowered everything else, the smell and feeling of her all-consuming as well. Amanda wanted to make Lynn part of her in any way she could and she was doing a pretty good job.

****

“I can’t do this alone,” Mallick’s words echoed in Brit’s head as she held her skin against the blade. “I can’t,” He had sounded so desperate and she was beginning to share in that desperation, tears starting to burn her eyes. 

If it hadn’t been for Mallick, she wouldn’t still be standing. They needed each other, she reminded herself. Five pints each was pushing it, but she fought to keep her eyes open and on the beaker as it filled up. Her fingers clung to Mallick’s hand, grounding them both to the situation. It was a reminder that she was still there, feeling the same pain that he was. 

It felt odd to be so interconnected to someone she didn’t really know, but she found comfort in having him there. He held her hand tightly and they both kept their arms against the blades, spilling more and more blood for this game. She couldn’t tell which one of them was screaming, most likely both, but the shouting could barely be heard over the blades and the sounds of their flesh being torn into. 

How does she know you love her? 

They had never said “I love you.” Brad was very aware of that fact because it was something new for him. In every other relationship, he’d been quick to say those words and maybe that was how he got his heart broken in the first place. He fell in love with people fast and hard, and Ryan wasn’t an exception to that. He definitely felt like he loved him, but he knew better than to say it. 

Ryan hated the use of the word “love” and Brad knew why. He couldn’t blame him for being sensitive about the word and the concept after the betrayal they’d experienced. Relationships weren’t quite the same for him either. It felt weird to not say it, but if that’s what Ryan needed, he didn’t mind doing it. They’d formed their lives greatly around each other’s comforts and routines. This wasn’t that different and Brad didn’t think there was anything he would refuse to give Ryan. 

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at times. When Ryan cuddled closer to him on the couch and the world seemed perfect, it felt wrong to not say it. When he was inside of Ryan and closer than ever, it felt wrong to not say it. When they spent quiet mornings together, it felt wrong not to say it. So, Brad said it in other ways. 

He said it by giving Ryan the majority of the blankets on the couch, knowing he got cold. He said it by pressing kisses along Ryan’s face and whispering about how beautiful he was. He said it by making Ryan’s coffee and knowing exactly how he liked it. All of those ways were enough. All that mattered to Brad was that Ryan knew he was loved even if they never said the words. 

Ryan did the same thing if he was being honest. There seemed to always be a small way Ryan showed he was thinking of Brad or that he knew him better than anyone else. The ways he always could read what Brad was feeling and what he needed. The way he held him a little closer in the mornings, reluctant to let him go. The way Ryan had supported every idea he had. There was no doubt in his mind that Ryan loved him too. 

Well, does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind? 

The notes were one of the first things Brad noticed about dating Ryan. The first one had been the first night they’d slept together, ending up in Brad’s bed. Ryan had left early, but Brad couldn’t mourn the loss for very long. He had found the little post-it note on his bathroom mirror, stolen off of the pad he had on his desk. Ryan’s handwriting was surprisingly neat and Brad was certain this was the first time he’d ever seen it. 

“Thanks for last night. Have a good day” was written in thick letters, a smiling face sketched messily beneath the words. Brad felt his cheeks burning as he looked at the note, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like an idiot, but that didn’t stop him from saving the note and looking at it periodically. Over time, a million other notes had been added to the shoe box. 

Some weren’t able to be saved, such as the “good luck” that Ryan had jotted down on his wrist right before an interview he’d been nervous for. The box was filled with various other ones, though. A card from his birthday, a receipt Ryan had drawn all over, an admittedly bad poem Ryan had written that Brad still treasured. All tangible reminders that Ryan loved him without ever having to say the words. 

Send you yellow flowers when the sky is grey? 

Ryan rolled his eyes when he spotted the first flower taped to the outside of his apartment door. He knew exactly what had sparked this and who the flower was from. Almost a week before, he’d divulged the fact he’d never received flowers to Brad. He should’ve known Brad was up to something when he was unusually quiet after that, but he hadn’t read much into it. 

Of course, Brad would take it as something to correct. He’d always had a habit of trying to fix what he viewed as things Ryan’s past partners did wrong. Ryan was careful as he peeled the tape away from the yellow rose, smelling it on his way into the apartment. He laughed the second he stepped inside, though. 

What had started as one flower had turned out to be a trail of stemmed roses along his apartment floor. They were all nearly evenly spaced and led towards his bedroom. Some were red and some were yellow, all of them beautiful and Ryan picked them all up as he walked along the path. 

The flowers he found in his bedroom were not roses. Instead, a carefully wrapped bouquet rested on his bed and offered an assortment of different flowers. He couldn’t even recognize most of them, but he smiled anyway. The gesture was so romantic, so over the top, so Brad. Nobody had ever been as thoughtful as Brad was, none of them had ever made him feel so loved. 

Well, does he take you out dancing just so he can hold you close? 

Ryan laughed as Brad spun around the kitchen, dancing dramatically. None of the moves were well-coordinated or talented for any song, let alone Elvis playing in the background. He didn’t imagine anyone had moved like that to Can’t Help Falling In Love before, but as long as Ryan was entertained by it, he didn’t mind being the first one. 

“Take my hand,” Brad sang to him, horribly off-key and stalking closer to him, offering one hand to him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Ryan insisted, but that didn’t stop him from taking Brad’s hand. 

“I know,” Brad assured him and tugged him closer, kissing his fingers. “You make me act like a fool,” He told him as though it was some tragedy he’d simply accepted. 

“You were a fool way before me,” Ryan spun when Brad urged him around, their arms twisting at the motion. “Don’t try to pin all that on me,” He pressed himself closer to Brad, their movements turning more into slight swaying.