Page 134 of Rears & Vices

D’Arcy arched, splayed arms, clutching, scrabbling for whatever he could reach: Everard’s left hand was convenient. “Ho…oh-oh-ly God,” he groaned. “Vee—Vee.” His voice dropped low, into his chest, grunts drawn from the core of him, made up of the last bits of breath he could sustain. He was close.

Vitaliy was merciless, and wanting, and relentless.

“Ever,” D’Arcy gasped. “Ever, Ever, I can’t⁠—”

Everard stroked the damp curls. His eyes were on Vitya, whose face was now set, determined, closed-eyed in concentration.

“Yes, you can. You must. I love you.”

“Oh. Aarrgh.” D’Arcy’s shoulders bunched, sweat-slick and tense. His back arched, convex against the bedclothes, and the squeeze of Everard’s hand became increasingly painful.

Everard leaned in. “You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, taking Vee’s prick like that. Did you hear him say it, Preston? That you’re meant to be here? You. Proxy, my arse. Vee’ll have you come on his prick, and then I will have both of you at once, and we’ll see who’s truly wrecked at the end of it.”

That did it.

D’Arcy groaned, long and drawn out, and came, prick untouched.

Vitya cursed, throaty and muffled, clearly almost at his own breaking point. His teeth were buried in his lower lip, bright red splashed there and all over his face, but he held steady through D’Arcy’s release.

When D’Arcy slumped, finally boneless, breathing deep and desperate the way he couldn’t before, and Vitya had carefully, wincingly withdrawn, Everard spoke.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Now me.”

Vitaliy looked up, wild, disbelieving; his bitten lips parted, blood-red. I want too much.

“No,” he croaked.

D’Arcy was semiconscious, still facedown; he stirred at this. “Mmn? No, what?”

“It’s not too much. I meant what I said, Vitya.”

D’Arcy groaned. “Pardon me, but even a corpse doesn’t much like being spoken over.” He clambered up, rolled over, and lay back, arm behind his head. He observed their standoff with heavy-lidded eyes. “Might as well give in, Vee. That looks fairly painful.”

Everard felt a rush of triumph at being backed in this, at D’Arcy’s support, though from his shocked expression, Vitaliy did not seem to like being outvoted.

Except that he did like to be outvoted. Most of all, he liked obliging Everard. At least he had in the past.

“Say no again, Vitya, and I’ll leave it. But I meant it.” He came close, almost close enough to kiss, and began to remove his clothing. “I want you to fuck me. You can’t hurt me, I promise you. Be gentle if you must. Only, please.”

Vitya watched him, wide-eyed. He swallowed. He didn’t say no.

He did begin to take off his coat. And his shirt. And, slowly, shaking, everything else.

“Unf,” D’Arcy murmured fondly. “You’re a pair.” There was a slick noise as he stroked himself; he was hard again, somehow.

Vitaliy glanced over with an impressed, half-exasperated look. “Again?”

“Think I can still stand,” D’Arcy said cheekily. “And if you’re wondering about the events just prior your timely interruption, well, ye of little faith, I used fingers.”

Vitaliy’s eyes went even wider. “Did you.”

“So he’d be ready for you,” D’Arcy said, significantly. Said fingers moved faster. “Next time, let’s maybe confer about our plans? Using words?”

Vitaliy just breathed.

Everard climbed onto the cot. “I think this is working just fine.” He knelt in the warm space between D’Arcy’s knees. “Let me?”

“Let you… what? Hands, mouth, prick? Oh, you were serious.” D’Arcy spread thighs accommodatingly. “Both at once?”