Art and Ryan peeled apart. Ryan turned to him in a way that showed off both his and Art’s erections. “No, love. We want you to participate.”
Art held out his hand to Graeme, who moved forward, cautiously at first, but then with enthusiasm once he took Art’s hand. Ryan slid his hand down Graeme’s side to caress his backside as Art cupped Graeme’s cheek and turned his head so they could kiss. Once he paused for breath, Ryan turned Graeme’s head toward him and took over where Art left off.
The three of them shifted to the bed, sliding and grinding against each other as they sought out the best position for all three of them to enjoy themselves. Graeme started out in the middle at first with both Art and Ryan teasing his overheated body with touches and kisses. They didn’t have a plan and they hadn’t discussed choreography or turns beforehand, but everything seemed to work.
They took it slowly at first, concentrating on exploration and building arousal. Art had never experienced something so leisurely that didn’t make him want to rush ahead to where he had a dick up his arse. He loved the sounds his lovers made, the contrast in the taste of their skin and mouths. He loved how Graeme’s touches were actually more demanding than Ryan’s and how, once he let go, he was as greedy as the two of them. He loved how Ryan took care of them both, shifting their positions as the heat level built to the point where they all needed more.
Art was a sexed-up mess by the time the lube and condoms came out and they took turns coating each other’s cocks and stroking until they were all panting and mindless with need. They had a long way to go before they figured out what positions worked best for the three of them together, but for that first time, it was enough to have Art in the middle on his side, Ryan slotted in behind him, and Graeme face-to-face in front of him so they could kiss.
Ryan called the shots when it came to the endgame. He hooked an arm under Art’s thigh to open him up, then lined up and pushed in, causing Art to cry out and grab Graeme as he worked deeper and deeper. It was absolute bliss, made even better when Graeme tried throwing a leg over Ryan’s to squeeze them all closer together. He took Art’s cock in hand instead of putting a condom on him and stroked in time to Ryan’s thrusts, and even though he wanted to flail with the pleasure of it, Art sought out Graeme’s cock with his free hand and stroked that as best he could in their awkward positions.
There was plenty of kissing all around, Ryan leaning over Art to kiss Graeme, then turning Art’s head to kiss him. Once he was consumed with fucking Art hard and deep, the kissing was mostly between Art and Graeme. Even that couldn’t last as Art skated closer and closer to coming and felt Graeme getting there, too.
He was the first to come, which didn’t surprise him at all. It was the fullest and most glorious orgasm he’d ever taken. Everything was ten times sexier once the stickiness of his cum joined the slippery lube between him and Graeme. Ryan must have either felt it or seen it, because he clearly started coming a few seconds later, shooting his load deep inside Art, which Art adored. Graeme held out a little longer, like he wanted to milk the moment for all it was worth, but when Ryan reached his hand around to join Art’s, he made the most beautiful sound and spilled a whole fountain of cum.
It was so, so perfect. The three of them were left gasping for breath, hot, sticky, and so happy that tears stung Art’s eyes.
“That was everything,” he panted, reaching for his men as best he could to keep them tight around him. “I love you both.”
“I love you, too,” Graeme quickly added. “Both of you.”
“And I love you and everything about this,” Ryan said.
They could have said so much more. They could have planned and organized a bit more, or whispered sweet nothings to each other as they moved apart enough to get comfortable, but stayed close enough to feel connected. They didn’t need to say or do anything, though. Falling asleep in each other’s arms, the three of them one, was all they needed and all they would ever need.
EPILOGUE
Nothing had ever quite feltlike home to Graeme the way the gardens of Hawthorne House did. He’d watched seasons come and go at the grand estate and seen the things he’d planted take root and blossom into something beautiful and satisfying. The kitchen garden was now a teaching garden, both for the young crew members he’d signed on to RAG Gardens, his thriving garden design business, and for the culinary students Leland Page taught as well. The rose garden had been completely replanted, and the walking garden was now practically a tourist attraction, it had become such a feature of the estate.
The walking garden had personal significance, too, because one part of it formed the side garden for the newly-reconstructed gamekeeper’s cottage. It had been an amazing feeling to work with Ryan, Art, and an architect to build a new structure on the site of the old one, once Art had finished his excavation and written his book about the place. The new cottage looked exactly like the old drawings they’d discovered of the place in Hawthorne House’s attic.
At least from one aspect. The new building had actually been made three times as big and now held a full, modern kitchen, lounge, two bedrooms, and a design studio that Ryan and Graeme shared. The three of them had moved into the cottage just as Ryan had scored a deal with a popular high street retailer to design an exclusive line for them, and as Art’s book about the secret lives of the Victorian aristocracy had made a big splash in the archeology and anthropology world. One that had impressed even Dr. Renfer, and more importantly, the tenure committee.
All in all, within the space of a relatively short few years, Graeme’s life had gone from one of stress and self-loathing to the happiest existence he could have imagined. Which was underscored by the way he woke up into a beautiful, spring world, sunlight coming in around the edges of the curtains and through the concealed skylight of the cottage’s main bedroom, Art sprawled halfway across him in the king-sized bed.
Graeme smiled up at the blue sky beyond the skylight as he stroked a hand up and down Art’s back. He was so content that it was probably a grievous sin. Art’s body was as familiar to him as his own now, and he’d become super familiar with his body’s wants and needs over the past couple years. Art’s scent was all around him, along with the leftover musk from their exuberant activities the night before. All that, and Art’s morning wood still pressed against his thigh eagerly.
Graeme turned enough so he could kiss the top of Art’s head, nuzzling his face into his lover’s disheveled hair. Art groaned in reply and snuggled tighter against Graeme’s side.
“Is it morning already?” he groaned hazily.
“Just about,” Graeme replied, resuming his feather-light strokes over Art’s skin. Art groaned and buried his head against Graeme’s neck, like he was trying to hide. “I’d’ve thought you’d be excited,” Graeme said, laughing gently. “Ryan gets back from New York today.”
That won a more interested moan from Art. Their partner had been gone for two weeks, attending a series of prestigious events and even dressing one of Hollywood’s A-list celebrities for the Met Gala. Graeme had missed him tremendously, missed Ryan’s steadiness and grounding presence, but he’d had Art to stop him from feeling completely alone.
Although Art had been incredibly needy in Ryan’s absence.
“I’m certainly happy Ryan is coming home,” Graeme went on with a happy sigh. “I miss him so much when he goes away. It sucked that he wasn’t there for the family’s Beltane celebration the other day.”
“That was fun,” Art said, his energy growing as he shifted to lie spread over Graeme like a blanket.
Graeme laughed and slid his hands down Art’s sides and hips to grasp his backside. That was another surprise of the last couple years, one his family would hate him for even more, if they had any contact with him at all anymore. He’d joined the Hawthorne family coven, taking up Paganism along with the rest of them. And really, it was a faith practice that made all the sense in the world to him. What better way to celebrate the Divine than through the seasons and the natural cycles of the Earth and heavens?
“I miss our man,” Art said, still snuggling his face against Graeme’s neck, but rubbing his hardening morning wood against Graeme’s belly and his own interested cock. “I think I’ve probably worn you out these last two weeks.”
“No, me?” Graeme asked, dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes, you,” Art said, then kissed his neck, probably leaving a mark.
