I cleaned myself thoroughly with the efficiency of practice, the routine so familiar it required no thought—which was good, because thought was not available. My mind was occupied with the single, consuming reality that within minutes, the two men I wanted most in the world would be in my bedroom, and the careful, excruciating restraint was about to end.
I dried off. Walked to the bedroom. Pulled on clean boxers. Not naked—that would have been too much for Nolan's first time with us. This moment deserved more than me spread out like a buffet. I lit the sandalwood candle—the warm, woodysweetness filling the room, the scent that was home. I sat on the edge of the bed. Waited.
My leg bounced. My fingers drummed on my thigh. My pulse was doing things that a cardiologist would have flagged.
Footsteps in the hallway. Two sets. One measured and deliberate. One quicker, lighter.
The door opened.
Dec came in first. Jeans, no shirt, his hair damp. He'd stopped at the communal showers—smart, giving Nolan time to clean up without questions. Behind him, Nolan. Changed from his gym clothes into jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair damp from his own shower, the glasses back on. Clean and unknowing. His face carried a mix of confusion and alertness, the expression of a man who'd been retrieved without explanation by a shirtless, still-damp Declan and was running every scenario through his mind at triple speed.
His eyes found me on the bed. Boxers. Bare chest. Candlelight.
The confusion dissolved. Recognition, want, a flash of uncertainty that crossed his face and then cleared, replaced by a decisiveness I hadn't seen from him outside of his work.
He grabbed Dec's wrist.
The gesture was so sudden, so un-Nolan, that both Dec and I froze. He pulled Dec with him across the room, toward the bed, his grip firm, his body leading in a way his mind had probably not authorized. He stopped at the edge. Looked down at me. His eyes dark, his breathing fast, his jaw set.
He leaned down and kissed me.
The first kiss.
His mouth found mine and the world narrowed to the point of contact—warm, firm, tasting like toothpaste and the clean mineral tang of water, his hand going to the back of my neck, pulling. I grabbed his hip with one hand and the back of his head with the other and kissed him back with the full weight of weeks of wanting, and his breath shuddered out through his nose, a trembling exhale that vibrated against my face.
His free hand found Dec's and guided it to his own chest—pressed Dec's palm flat against his sternum, over his heartbeat.Both of you. Together. Right now.
Dec's hand spread against Nolan's chest. I felt the shift through the kiss—Nolan's body registering the second touch, a small shudder, an intake of breath that I swallowed. Dec stepped closer, his chest pressing against Nolan's back, his mouth finding the curve of Nolan's neck, and Nolan made a sound against my lips that was half gasp and half surrender.
I broke from Nolan. Dec turned Nolan's face toward his own—his hand on Nolan's jaw, deliberate, gentle—and kissed him. The sight of it from inches away hollowed me out: Dec's bronze skin against Nolan's flushed fairness, the controlled precision of Dec's mouth against the overwhelmed yielding of Nolan's, the quiet sound Nolan made deep in his throat. I pressed my mouth to Nolan's neck, tongue tracing the tendon, tasting clean skin and the salt of a body already running hot.
Nolan turned from Dec back to me, breathing hard, his glasses fogged at the edges, and then Dec leaned across and kissed me—familiar, electric, the eight-year kiss that still spiked my pulse—while Nolan's mouth found my shoulder, my collarbone, his lips tracing the muscle, his breath damp and shaking.
Three men kissing in rotation, the one not kissing always touching, always tasting. My mouth on Nolan's throat whileDec kissed him. Dec's lips on my neck while Nolan kissed me. Nolan exploring Dec's jaw with his mouth while Dec and I shared a breath. The geometry problem, solved. The answer was: everyone at once.
Shirts came off. Nolan's T-shirt over his head—I pulled it, and the body underneath was flushed and hard and I told him so. "God, Nolan. Look at you." Dec's hands mapped Nolan's chest from behind, palms sliding down his sides, his mouth on Nolan's shoulder. Nolan's hands found my chest, my abs, and when his fingers found the scar that ran across my left shoulder blade—an old knife wound from a bar fight three years ago, the ridge of it smooth and faded—his touch went gentle, tracing the shape, a tenderness that hit harder than anything rough could have.
I stood up from the bed. Guided them both up with me—a hand on Nolan's arm, a nod to Dec. The three of us standing, shirtless, flushed, the candlelight turning the room warm and amber. I dropped to my knees.
Nolan's breath stuttered. His abs clenched, his hands flexing at his sides. Dec's gaze darkened, the irises swallowed by something raw and unchecked.
I hooked my fingers into Nolan's waistband. Looked up at him. The asking mattered.
"Yes," he breathed. Before the question formed.
I pulled his jeans and boxers down together. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, curving slightly downward, the head slick. The size of him hit me in the chest. As big as Dec. As thick. The downward curve heavy and full, and the sight of it this close, this real, made my mouth water and my cock throb against the cotton of my boxers.
I turned to Dec. Hooked his waistband. Pulled his jeans down in one motion. Dec's cock stood hard against his bronze abs—thick, heavy, curving upward, the familiar shape I knew by taste and memory.
The two of them side by side. Nolan's slight downward curve next to Dec's upward arc, like mirror images, like counterweights. The view was exhilarating.
I leaned forward. Ran my tongue up the underside of Nolan's shaft, slow, tasting salt and clean skin, and Nolan made a sound like the wordGodhad been shattered into its component vowels. My right hand wrapped around Dec, stroking in lazy pulls while my mouth worked Nolan—tongue circling the head, lips closing, taking him deeper.
I switched. Dec's cock in my mouth, Nolan's in my hand. The taste was familiar where Nolan had been new—the salt and musk I'd known for years—and the alternation drove me higher with every turn. I took Dec deep, throat opening around him, the wet sounds filling the room, and Dec's hand found the back of my head—not pushing, just resting, grounding.
Above me, they were kissing. I could see it from below—mouths moving together slow and deep, Nolan's hand on Dec's chest, Dec's fingers tracing Nolan's nipple in light circles that made Nolan gasp into the kiss. The image of the three of us—me on my knees working them both while they touched and kissed above me—was the most beautiful thing I'd ever been part of.
I took them in quick turns. Nolan deep, my throat working. Then Dec, the gag reflex overridden by years of practice. My jaw ached and I didn't care. My own cock was straining against my boxers, leaking, and I didn't touch myself because the ache was fuel.
