Page 105 of Rears & Vices

Everard said, “Oh, God.” D’Arcy hissed his approval, hooked his chin over Everard’s left shoulder, then drew up what he could of Everard’s shirt tight in one hand.

Vitya took the head of him in swiftly, eagerly, wetly. Everard cursed.

“I thought so,” D’Arcy purred. “Hell. Look at those lips. That prick.”

Vitaliy gave them a dark-blue look, glare and—affection?—and consternation, and then redoubled his efforts; Everard, between flashes of starlike bliss, made another realisation: Vitya liked this, liked the focus on his lips, liked how D’Arcy had made them both into something almost object-like, framed for display⁠—

He whimpered. “Ah—Jesus. Ah.”

Vitya had revenge in the clutching of Everard’s arse, hands hard to either side, spreading; Everard groaned. D’Arcy’s fingers, missing nothing, insinuated themselves in the cleft there, pressing, stroking.

It was too much, all at once. “I don’t think— Vitya— God— Oh.” He groped backward with his hand not wrapped in Vitya’s hair. “Preston!”

“Quite right,” D’Arcy breathed. “Good lord. I’d better stop, then.” He caught the hand in his and squeezed. “Hang on, love.”

“Hang on? I can’t possibly— I’d like to see you here—” Everard made a desperate noise.

Vitya let go Everard’s arse, pulled off his prick barely in time. Breathing hard, lips red, he shot D’Arcy a triumphant look of challenge that almost sent Everard over in spite of the effort of the abrupt stop.

Everard heaved in careful breaths. “I shan’t survive,” he gasped. “You’ll have me wrecked between you.”

D’Arcy laughed. “Not yet.”

Vitaliy stood and kissed Everard, undoing buttons, not touching nearly enough skin as he removed Everard’s shirt.

Everard made up for it by breaking free and revealing all of Vitaliy in a single rough shove of breeches. He was hard, already leaking. Everard stroked him with a tight fist, almost angrily; when Vitya drew back, it was with wide eyes and flaring nostrils. He looked up to D’Arcy and said roughly, “You, too.”

D’Arcy laughed more as he stripped, which seemed to exasperate and endear Vitaliy to equal measure; he watched with gleaming, blue-black eyes. And as the last of D’Arcy’s clothes had been toed away, Vitaliy’s hips bumped against Everard’s. He put a hasty, restraining hand on Everard’s wrist.

Everard raised an eyebrow. “You did call him pretty.” He looked back over his shoulder, and raised the other brow. “Turnabout?” he suggested to D’Arcy.

“Hells, yes.”

D’Arcy was on his knees in a flash. After a confirming pause—Vitya nodded—D’Arcy took him in, all the way down.

Vitya’s eyes went wide; he gasped in surprise. He looked up to Everard with a wry, shocked expression: I didn’t expect this.

It was Everard’s turn to giggle, sounding half-mad.

Vitaliy put his unoccupied hand on the panelling to brace himself, tensed his broad thighs. The hand he’d put in D’Arcy’s curls clutched and seized, roving through.

Everard’s laughter faded abruptly at the sight. “Oh, Dios,” he said. “That looks…” He kept his hands palms-flat on his thighs so that he wouldn’t work himself to spending in a second, was how it looked. He could watch it forever. “Good lord, Preston.”

D’Arcy made a pleased-sounding hum, then truly went to task.

Vitya didn’t whimper in his throes; he gulped, increasingly faster. But though the perfect lips had dropped open, turnabout didn’t seem to be forthcoming—he wasn’t reaching true desperation. There was no colour on his cheeks, and in fact maybe even the beginnings of concern between his brows. His fingers were too careful, too hesitant in D’Arcy’s hair.

Everard touched D’Arcy’s shoulder. He drew back, panting.

Vitaliy relaxed, relief apparent in the line of his shoulders and the instant drop of his hands. He shot Everard a grateful look.

“Right. Not your trigger,” D’Arcy said, matter-of-fact, as he fell back to his heels.

Vitaliy shook his head. “Not especially,” he whispered.

D’Arcy didn’t move. “Hmm.” His eyes narrowed again, polecat-like. “It’s Everard’s, though,” he said, equally unconcerned. “Watching.”

Vitaliy’s gaze flew up to Everard, questioning. “Yes?”