Page 79 of Puck You Both

Patrick's warmth peels away from my back, and I almost protest out loud. The nightstand drawer opens somewhere behind me, closes, and then he's back, chest against my spine where he belongs, reaching around me with a tiny, plastic bottle.

I let out a shaky exhale as I watch him uncap it. Lube runs cold over my knuckles and Theo's cock. Theo yelps, and the yelp turns into a moan halfway through, and then my fist starts to glide, and everything changes. The sound of it, the speed I suddenly have. The roll of his foreskin under my slick palm. The way his thighs drop open like he's lost an argument and couldn't be happier about it.

I find a rhythm and hold it, and Theo starts running background commentary, an endless well of grip ratings, and coaching, and finallys. He falls apart one word at a time until it's just vowels, while Patrick's voice stays right at my ear the whole time, low and even, taking him apart from a distance, and taking me apart in the process.

"Watch his stomach. He tightens up there first." He runs the back of his fingers across my own stomach, his touch feather-light, almost phantom. "Slower now. Make him earn it."

He's teaching me Theo, piece by piece, and Theo can hear it happening, and swears at us both, and gets louder anyway.

I hold on to every word. I'm going to use all of it.

Theo's cock jerks in my fist and his abs flex, exactly where I was told to look.

"Let go now," Patrick says.

I let go, and Theo’s expression changes from blissed-out focus to outrage inside a single second.

"You—" He points at me, then at Patrick, wild-eyed, damp, and magnificent. "You're colluding."

"Your turn," Patrick says, unmoved. "Past due, by my count."

It takes real mental strength to stop myself from shouting out one of Theo’s finallys as Patrick lays me back into the pillows with one hand flat on my chest. I let him do it. I let myself be arranged, my head landing exactly where he decided it should.

Theo is up on his knees beside me before the mattress settles, aggrieved, and hard, and instantly forgiving, his hand hovering over my stomach. "May I?"

The concept of Theo asking permission rings foreign, until I remember—there are rules and they apply to Theo too. Somehow that, more than anything Patrick said in the living room, is what makes them real.

"Yes." It comes out rough, already wrecked.

His fingers close around my cock, and my world tilts in an instant.

No other man's hand. Ever.

It was never a rule, something I had consciously decided. It was just a fact, unexamined my whole life, like being right-handed. That fact ends here, under Theo's fingers, warm, curious, and wrong in every dimension.

Wrong pressure. Wrong rhythm. Wrong calluses.

And every single wrong is doing more for me than years of right.

"Okay," he says, stroking slow, eyes moving between my face and my cock like he can't pick a favorite. "First observation. You're so fucking hot like this. Second observation—" his thumb crosses the head of my cock, and my hips buck without permission "—found the dial."

A half-chuckle, half-moan escapes me. "Theo..."

Patrick stretches out along my other side, takes my jaw in one hand, turns my face, and kisses me, deep and slow, tongue pushing in like it belongs, completely out of tempo with what Theo's hand is doing, and the two rhythms refuse to line up, and I quit trying to keep track of either one.

Lube arrives, cold, then warm. Theo's fist slicks and tightens and settles into a pace designed to ruin me. Patrick's free hand crosses my chest, finds my nipple, and my back arches up into a body that isn't done kissing me yet.

I lose track of time. There's a mouth on mine and a fist on my cock and a running review being conducted somewhere above me in a French accent, and I can't hold them apart as three separate things anymore.

I'm close. I’m so fucking close my body must be emitting some kind of signal, because Theo catches on before I fully do, his hand slowing down to half the speed.

"Nope," he says, fond and merciless. "Not yet. You edged me. This is only fair."

The sound I make against Patrick's mouth is anything but dignified, and Patrick swallows it and keeps kissing me until I forget everything I was about to say.

My hands need a job, right now, or I'm going to start begging. Begging isn't off the table, it's just not Plan A.

Patrick's cock is right there, so I reach over, blindly, and wrap my fist around his cock mid-kiss, and this time I'm the one swallowing the sound.