And then he was lying underneath me, knees spread, grasping his tight cock and balls while working a petite silver dildo in and out of his ass. The lubed metal slid effortlessly along his hearty, pink flesh. The toy wasn’t mine, and it looked expensive. Probably given to him as a gift from one of his wealthy lovers, engraved with something vulgar and sentimental.
Don’t think about that,I chided. I focused on Arden’s pleated muscle being stretched wide. Cold, unyielding metal against warm, supple flesh. The dildo wasn’t as thick as my cock, I noticed with some satisfaction. Even when Arden was well-prepared, he still faltered for just a moment when the flare of my cockhead was at its thickest. I watched him writhe against the soft cream fur like a sex dream, mine for the taking.
“Fuck me, Michael.” Arden abandoned the toy and reached for my engorged, leaking cock, guiding me to his entrance. His pucker kissed my glans, and then I slowly sunk inside him, relishing the strong squeeze of his channel and the singular focus on his face, forcing himself to relax so that he could accommodate me. The sensation of filling him up overwhelmed me. I fell forward onto my elbows and edged in deeper as his slick heat enveloped me. It could have been my own heartbeat, pulsing inside him.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too.” He tugged at my earlobe with his teeth. When I hadn’t moved for a while, he bit me, waking me from my stupor.
We moved like two primordial organisms attempting to fuse into one. I wanted to consume him—skin, blood, and bone. I hardly knew the sounds I made, only that they were guttural and out of my control. I fucked Arden into the carpet, through the floor, buried him in dirt and dug deeper still, until we were completely cocooned within the earth.
“Franco wants in,” Arden said quietly. I nodded in assent, and Arden gripped the globes of my ass, spreading them for Franco’s purposes. And then Franco was behind me, nudging my shy hole with the head of his cock, assuring me with some measure of glee that I’d be feeling this tomorrow.
“You ready?” Arden asked, a song drifting across the water.
“Yes.”
Some signal was given, and then Franco was pushing inside, cleaving muscle and flesh and demanding entrance, as pushy as he’d ever been. His propulsion sunk me deeper into Arden, where everything was bright and beautiful. And then Franco began to move, filling me up, making me feel so warm and whole.
“You feel so good,” I murmured. “Both of you.”
“I told you he’s a crybaby when you top him,” Franco said, but there was affection in his voice and in his hands as they massaged my back and sides. I had loved Franco deeply and passionately. I remained loyal to him, through it all, and it was only by cauterizing my feelings and limiting our time together that I was able to grieve him and move on.
“He broke my heart,” I told Arden who nodded in understanding.
“He’s sorry,” Arden said. “Didn’t you hear him say it?”
“When?”
“When you were sucking him off.”
“That’s when he makes all of his apologies.”
“It’s when I see things most clearly,” Franco said and shunted in deeper with a groan of satisfaction.
“Don’t break my heart, Arden.”
He shushed me with a gentle kiss. “Don’t think about the end, Michael. Think about the three of us, here and now. You’re inside me and Franco’s inside you, and we’re all bound up in each other, like blood brothers. Let go and feel it.”
I felt it, our bodily communion. Franco, my first love, and Arden, my present. I was caught between them, and safe. My pleasure soared, and I stopped thinking altogether. Stopped breathing, it would seem, from the gasps that tore from my lungs. I felt every searing sensation as Franco flowed into me and the breathtaking squeeze of Arden’s lithe body as we ascended together.
I’d been caught once in a mob in Times Square, and for a few moments, the crowd surged and lifted me off my feet. There was no use in struggling or resisting the crush of bodies. I simply had to wait until they stopped moving and I found my feet again.
Similarly, I ebbed and flowed between men, absorbing the force of Franco’s penetration and channeling it into Arden. It was a mystical transference of power and pleasure. I let go of my need to control things and simply rode the waves. Tossed and turned, I found my anchor in Arden’s eyes.
“There you are,” he said.
I didn’t know who came first, but soon enough, we rose and crested in a cacophony of sex noises, peak after peak after peak, then collapsed in a warm, sticky pile. None of us dared move or do anything more than catch our breath.
Franco maneuvered me so that I was couched by his body in a sated sprawl while Arden relaxed in my arms. Somebody’s stomach rumbled—mine, I thought—and Arden fed us, hand-to-mouth, then brought us drinks to replenish our fluids. Thanks to his cocktail of drugs, my flagging erection was raising its sails again.
“Round two,” Franco said to Arden. “I want to see you ride him.”
Arden prowled, cat-like, and dipped between my legs to suckle my balls while Franco stroked my nipples. Pleasure radiated like satellite waves and was picked up by receptors in my nervous system.
“What have you done to me?” I said. It felt too good to be real.
“This is what you get for meddling.” Franco rolled my nipple with his fingertip before pinching it sharply. “We’re going to fuck you until you can hardly walk. You’ll have to crawl to the bathroom on your hands and knees, if we let you.”
