“Bastard,” I said.
Dmitri laughed, genuine and low. Then he spit on his own cock, wrapped a hand around himself, and pressed back against my lips while Troy pressed alongside him, both of them at my mouth simultaneously. It was too much, thick and hot and impossible to take both at once, and they knew it and weren't interested in mercy.
I worked them both with my lips and tongue, turning from one to the other, and the sounds both men made above me were gratifyingly uncontrolled. Dmitri's hand went into my hair. Troy's thumb pressed against my lower lip, pulling my mouth open wider and watching what was happening to my face with dark eyes.
“He looks incredible,” Dmitri said, directed at Troy and conversational, like discussing this while I was between them was entirely normal.
“Told you,” Troy said.
Dmitri pulled back and turned. He grabbed Troy by the jaw and kissed him hard with one hand fisting in his hair, and the shift happened fast and fluid. Troy made a sound against his mouth that was immediate and hungry with his hands going up to Dmitri's chest, his palms spreading over the tattoos that covered his pecs and ribs.
I watched from below while catching my breath, both of them above me, Troy's hands moving across Dmitri's chest and stomach with a focus that looked like reverence. He traced the geometric lines of the tattoos with his fingertips, his palms, his mouth pulling off Dmitri's lips to press against his collarbone instead, working downward with a deliberateness that had Dmitri's jaw tightening visibly.
“These,” Troy said against his chest. “Been wanting to do this since you got here.”
“Da.” Dmitri's voice had gone rough. His hand moved around Troy's hip and found the lace still caught at his thighs, pulling it aside without looking, and his fingers went directly where he wanted them. He pressed two inside Troy without preamble.
Troy's whole body arched.
He bit Dmitri's chest and left a mark.
Dmitri pressed deeper with his fingers, watching Troy shake against him, and he looked down at me over Troy's shoulder. His free hand extended with his fingers curling in a slow gesture that was neither a request nor a demand but something between the two.
I rose off my knees.
Troy turned his head without lifting his mouth from Dmitri's chest and found my mouth with his. He kissed me messy and sideways and deep while Dmitri worked his fingers in a rhythm that was making Troy's knees unreliable. I felt him shakingagainst my chest from the inside out, both Dmitri's hand and my proximity hitting him from different directions.
Troy pressed his face against Dmitri's shoulder. “Fuck. Dmitri, right there?—”
“I know,” Dmitri said, unhurried, with his fingers working precisely. His eyes were still on me.
Troy's hand found my cock, wrapped around me and stroked once with his grip tight, and my breath left my body in a rush. He stroked again, slow and thorough, with his face still buried against Dmitri's neck while Dmitri kissed me over the top of his head with morning light flooding all of us.
Dmitri broke the kiss and spit onto Troy's hole around his own fingers. The sound Troy made at that was sharp and high and his grip on my cock went white-knuckled.
“He needs more,” Dmitri said to me with his fingers still moving. “You think he is ready?”
Troy lifted his head. His mouth was swollen and his eyes were glazed and the look he gave us both was the look of a man with absolutely nothing left to hide.
“If you make me ask,” he said, “I will never forgive either of you.”
I left them there.
I crossed the bedroom threshold, moved down the hall, and came back thirty seconds later with the lube still warm from the nightstand. Both of them had barely moved. Troy was pressed against Dmitri's chest with Dmitri's fingers still buried inside him, Troy's forehead dropped to Dmitri's shoulder with his eyes closed and his breathing ragged.
Dmitri looked up when I reappeared in the doorway.
I tossed the lube. He caught it one-handed without looking, smooth and easy, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Good,” he said.
He pulled his fingers free. Troy made an involuntary sound of loss that was quickly replaced by something else when Dmitri sat back against the kitchen table with his thighs spread and looked up at him with patient dark eyes.
“Come here,” Dmitri said.
Troy moved over him and got his knees either side of Dmitri's thighs, bracing both hands on his shoulders while Dmitri slicked himself with a thoroughness that was entirely unhurried, watching Troy's face the whole time. The lace was still intact and still clinging to the length of his legs, and from where I stood the picture they made together hit me behind the sternum as much as anywhere lower.
Dmitri lined himself up.
