Page 132 of Rears & Vices

“I… Jesus. What a question, Vitya.”

Of all the things they’d done… he tried to imagine it.

Vitaliy waited, slightly withdrawn, rapt but patient.

D’Arcy was muttering to himself and hauling drawers off his hips like a resentful youth; the prick that sprang free was all man. The urgency of it seemed to find Vitya’s question a foregone conclusion.

Everard swallowed.

“It is too much.” Vitaliy withdrew more, expression shuttering.

Everard grasped frantically to keep him close. “No, no—it isn’t. Yes. God. Do. Do fuck him. I’d love to watch that. I really would. If this is how you want it, please. Preston’s said yes. He clearly wants it too. So yes. But—” He palmed his face. “Put— The sun’s going?” he muttered. “Maybe put a lamp on?”

D’Arcy laugh-groaned. By now, he was lying on his back in the cot, and had a hand going steadily over his stand, up and down; his other hand was ringless once again, fingers deep inside himself.

Vitya smiled. “Good.”

He kissed Everard once more, long and thorough, then pushed back and indeed lit a lamp—two lamps. He approached the cot, not even bothering to undress.

D’Arcy was naked to skin that glowed tawny gold in the lamplight. Vitaliy kept everything on except boots, undoing only his breeches fall. The contrast was thrilling, especially as he climbed up and knelt, shuffling forward, coat and stiff prick swaying alike with the movement of the cot.

“Ever?” D’Arcy croaked. He wanted confirmation.

“Yes, Preston. As long as you want it.”

D’Arcy huffed. “Does it look like I don’t? I want to know that you do.”

“I want it,” Everard said, roughly; and that was enough for both men.

Vitaliy straddled D’Arcy, and leaned in, hips forward, body covering body. D’Arcy gasped, and Vitaliy kissed him, as thoroughly and totally as he had just kissed Everard.

Had he seen the two of them truly kiss before? Everard couldn’t, couldn’t remember, his brain was clogged screws and gears just then, but surely not; just as surely, the sight of it was seared into him forevermore.

In kissing Vitaliy, D’Arcy didn’t fight or claim; he melted, groaned, and softly reciprocated. Did Everard look like that? Was D’Arcy playacting his place, mimicking Everard, or were his gasps truly, honestly sincere?

They looked sincere.

“Sweet,” Vitya murmured, pulling back. “Like fruit. Both of you. You made him eat?”

D’Arcy scowled, only half-successfully. “Sod off and fuck me, Vee.”

Vitaliy grunted, but he sounded pleased. Then he licked down D’Arcy’s neck, the whole length of it, and bit sharply at a bare, shining collarbone; and proxy, Everard’s arse, he’d never done such a thing in making love to Everard. This was all for D’Arcy, who liked a bit of sharp, who gasped and writhed now. “Vee.”

Vitya sat back and pulled fuzzed thighs wide; D’Arcy was pliant and moveable, undemanding, pending.

D’Arcy had said, Just he and I together, it isn’t.

Everard whispered, “You’re such a liar, Preston.”

D’Arcy laughed, panting. “I tried,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. Vitya had apparently decided D’Arcy’s preparations insufficient; his fingers worked steadily inside, curving. “Thought it would hel— Oohh. Fu-uck, Vee.”

Vitaliy shook his head, amused. “What did you tell him, Lieutenant?”

“That you aren’t a very good…unh… lover.”

“No, that isn’t— Preston.”

Vitaliy laughed softly, unoffended.