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And it was — God, it was beautiful. Daddy took his time with Mikey, slow and patient, his free hand stroking up and down his spine in long, soothing passes. Mikey's face was turned to the side, his green eyes half-closed, his mouth open around sounds he wasn't trying to hide anymore. The flush had spread down to his shoulders, and his fingers were curled tight in the sheets, and every new touch sent a shiver running through him from his shoulders to his toes.

Daddy always took things slowly with Mikey. Mikey needed patience, needed time to settle into sensation instead of being rushed toward it, and Daddy gave him that without ever needing to be reminded.

"There you go," Daddy murmured, his voice low and warm. "That's it, baby. You're taking it so well."

Mikey's composure was in tatters. His body had surrendered entirely, his back arching under Daddy's hand, his thighs trembling against the sheets.

Daddy leaned close to his ear. "You want Daddy inside you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," Mikey breathed. Then, more clearly, "Yes, Daddy."

Daddy moved carefully, giving Mikey time to adjust. Mikey's breath went ragged — one sharp, broken inhale, then another — and his fingers curled into the sheets.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Daddy said softly against the back of Mikey's neck. "I've got you."

Mikey breathed. A shaky exhale, and then another, until his body softened again beneath Daddy.

Daddy kept everything slow and measured. One hand stayed on Mikey's hip, the other spread across his lower back, and every movement seemed calculated around Mikey's breathing instead of the other way around. Mikey's locked cock strained against the cage, and I could see the pressure building in the way his body tensed and relaxed, in the way his sounds got higher and less controlled, little muffled whimpers he couldn't hold back anymore.

I reached over. Without thinking about it, my hand found Mikey's where it was gripping the sheet, and I squeezed. His fingers closed around mine immediately, tight enough to hurt, and he didn't let go.

Daddy's pace stayed steady, and Mikey was coming apart under it — his body working toward something it couldn't reach the usual way, the pressure with nowhere to go except through him. His thighs were shaking. His back was arched, his face still pressed into the pillow, and the sounds coming from him had lost any semblance of control — high, broken, desperate.

When it hit him, it went through his whole body like a current. His hand clenched around mine hard enough to hurt, and he made a broken, ragged sound into the pillow. Daddy held him through every second of it, going still and curving his body over Mikey's, one hand steady on his hip, his breath warm against the back of Mikey's neck.

The shudder lasted. And lasted. Mikey's body trembled beneath Daddy, his fingers locked around mine, and when it finally started to ease, the tension leaving him in slow waves, Daddy stayed close and still until Mikey went soft beneath him.

Sawyer's voice behind me was quiet and utterly sincere.

"He did so well."

Daddy nodded against Mikey's shoulder. "He did."

Daddy waited until Mikey's breathing had steadied before moving again. Mikey made a tiny sound, but didn't pull away, and Daddy checked him immediately.

"Still good, sweetheart?"

Mikey nodded against the pillow.

"Green."

Only then did Daddy move again, slowly, until his own control finally broke. His shoulders went tight, the muscles in his back flexing under his shirt, his hand on Mikey's hip gripping harder.

"Oh," I breathed, because I couldn't help it, because I wasn't supposed to talk but that wasn't really a word, that was a reaction, and Daddy didn't correct me.

Daddy came with a low, rough sound, his body curving protectively over Mikey's. Mikey made a small, overwhelmed sound into the pillow. His fingers tightened around mine, and I squeezed back.

Then Daddy's weight settled. His forehead dropped to the back of Mikey's neck, and he stayed there breathing hard, one hand still on Mikey's hip, steady and warm.

I lay back against the pillows and watched my brother's breathing even out, watched Daddy's hand stroke slow circles on Mikey's hip, and thought about how damn lucky all of us were.

So stupidly, overwhelmingly lucky.

Aftercare happened.

Daddy moved between us with the same attention he gave everything. Warm damp cloths first — he cleaned me up gently, his hand cupping my jaw while he worked, then checked on Sawyer and took care of Mikey. Soft blankets followed, pulled from the stack he kept in the closet, and he tucked them around us one by one like he was building a nest and we were the eggs.

My blanket was green. He always gave me the green one. He knew.