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It’s Saturday morning and they’re all sprawled out in Roman’s bed, Roman on the left, Isaac on the right, and Peter between them. This is either the prime position to be in, as he definitely has the best pillow real estate, or a not-entirely effective attempt to put a barrier between the other two boys. Roman and Isaac are bickering about something and Peter is dozing right through it, as he generally does now that the majority of the venom has gone out of the spats between the two blonds. Isaac is winning, and Peter can tell because he’s propped up on his elbow, twisting Peter’s hair around his fingers and one calf draped over Peter’s leg while Roman is still, chest pressed to Peter’s shoulder and arm tense and possessive over his chest.
Peter is motherfucking Switzerland between them, aggressively ignoring this disturbance to his dozing until it inevitably devolves into sex, because for whatever reason Peter, who generally avoids conflict like it might scald him, seems to be sleeping with two people who think fighting is foreplay. But Isaac must be winning a little too much, because suddenly things go silent and the fingers in his hair go still and Peter gets a Very Bad Feeling About this. He cracks open his left eye to see Roman staring fixedly at Isaac, his expression intense.
“Roman--” Peter starts, but it’s too late.
“Fine, you cocky little fuckstick. You can’t come until he says so, and you really, really want it.” Roman gestures so violently that Peter actually flinches for fear of getting jabbed in the face, then opens his other eye. Isaac is staring at Roman, expression just slightly slack, but then he looks down at Peter and that blankness morphs into confusion and...hunger. Well, that’s the end of this nap.
“Roman, what the fuck?” Peter glares at him. “Using the roofie eyes on Isaac? Seriously, what the fuck? Undo it.”
“You can’t undo it, man.” Now Roman sounds petulant, sulky. “He was being a little shit, and now he’s gonna get his. Or, y’know. Not.”
Peter sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. It could be worse. Roman could have kept the control instead of passing it off to Peter. For once that works in his favor. On his other side, though, Isaac is moving against him, rubbing himself against Peter’s hip and making soft little noises into his neck.
“Sometimes I fucking hate you, Godfrey.”
“Fucking liar.” Now Roman sounds smug, because his eyes have swept downward and seen Peter’s cock twitch. “I just wanna watch him twist and pant for it, y’know?” He props himself up, leaning against the headboard, and slides his hand beneath the sheet to take a lazy hold on his cock. “Like the little slut he is.”
“Fuck you,” Isaac says, but the venom is muted by an edge of breathiness. Peter just rolls his eyes and turns to Isaac, cupping his jaw to make Isaac look at him.
“Precious?” Roman snorts at the nickname and Peter flips him the bird. “You all right?” Isaac blinks perfect blue eyes up at him, innocent and limpid as a fawn.
“I trust you,” he says, and suddenly Peter has to wonder if he’s being played somehow, if Roman and Isaac didn’t orchestrate this while he slept just to push all of their buttons. He wouldn’t put it past them, but he also wouldn’t bet on it. Assholes.
Either way, Roman laughs at Isaac’s frankly pornographic moan when Peter’s fingers brush against his cock, and Isaac doesn’t even spare him a glance, so Peter decides not to worry about it. If they’re fucking with him then whatever, he’s still getting some, and if they’re not, nobody’s getting hurt. He wraps his fingers around Isaac’s cock too light and strokes too slow, making Isaac close his eyes and whimper, and when Peter leans in and whispers in his ear his whole body shudders, goosebumps prickling over his skin.
“What do you want, precious?”
“Ah- anything, just- fuck, Peter…” And if Isaac had a train of thought, he loses it when Peter’s teeth close around his earlobe.
“Yeah, Peter, fuck him,” Roman contributes, and Isaac’s cock jumps in his hand, which Peter takes for agreement.
“You want me to fuck you, precious?” His lips drag over the shell of Isaac’s ear, speaking so low that Roman is undoubtedly straining to hear him. “Work you open real slow and then fuck you through the mattress until you can’t stand it?”
“Fuck--” is all Isaac replies, hips lifting into the still too-light grip of Peter’s hand, and Peter chuckles into his ear, which sends him into a new round of shudders.
“Thought so.” Peter’s smile curves against Isaac’s ear, and then against the skin of his neck. It’s followed by the blunt drag of teeth and the heat of his tongue as Peter works his way slowly down, kissing and nipping and sucking his way down Isaac’s body, his own muscles protesting pleasantly as he moves. He’s still half wrung out from last night, but that only helps him this morning, his cock slow to respond and his arousal only a banked warmth in his belly, nowhere near urgent. In the morning light the marks he made on Isaac’s shoulders the night before are plenty obvious, and some of them he worries at again, until Isaac is moaning and they’re even more vivid against his pale skin. He licks and sucks at Isaac’s nipples until his little noises begin edging toward desperate and oversensitive, stopping just short of it. Behind him, he can hear Roman’s impatient breathing, and blows an amused breath over Isaac’s belly. Good. Let him be impatient. The icing on the cake of fucking Isaac blind would be making Roman want it just as bad.
By the time Peter gets down to renewing the marks he’s made on Isaac’s hipbones, Isaac is squirming beneath him, precome beading in the slit of his cock. Peter takes a moment to lick it away as he moves from left hip to right, and Isaac gasps and then groans, unsure whether to be appreciative or disappointed when Peter’s teeth drag against the bruisey skin stretched over his hipbone. He settles on appreciative when Peter’s tongue drags down the crease of his thigh and over his balls, and Roman makes a similarly appreciative noise when Isaac spreads his legs and lifts his hips, shameless and wanton. It makes Peter chuckle, and he holds out a hand toward Roman, waggling his fingers impatiently until Roman cottons on and drops a familiar bottle into his hand. Peter doesn’t thank him, partially because it’s Roman and partially because his mouth is occupied on Isaac’s thigh.
The sound that Isaac makes as Peter rubs a slicked finger against him and bites his thigh at the same time is one of those things that Peter knows he’s going to have dreams about later, all shivery and wanting and perfect. Then there are hands in Peter’s hair, pressing his head much more gently than Peter knows he wants to as Isaac swears at him.
“Godfuckingdamnit, Peter--” Isaac’s fingers tangle in his hair, scrabble uselessly against his scalp. Peter makes sure Isaac can feel his grin before he gives him what he wants, biting down again as he pushes a finger into Isaac, making him suck in a breath and arch in a way Peter can tell is gorgeous from the way his hips grind into the mattress and his thighs stretch and tremble. There’s no particular need for Peter to go slow, because Isaac is still mostly relaxed from the evening previous, so he slides in the second finger he knows Isaac likes best and fucks him way too slow, most of his attention on the marks he’s working into Isaac’s thighs, sucking and biting so that Isaac will remember this for days against the seams of his jeans. Judging by the way Isaac’s fingers massage his scalp and his hips move with Peter’s fingers, he wants to remember.
Peter makes a matching trio of marks on each of Isaac’s thighs, the lowest one halfway to his knees, before he’s satisfied with his work. He kisses each one on his way back up, levering himself to his knees between Isaac’s legs. His mouth is wet and red, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide and black when he looks up at Isaac, but there’s no promise of relief in his smile even though his fingers slip free of Isaac’s body. In fact, his head lowers again almost immediately, his legs spreading and wedging beneath Isaac’s thighs as he takes Isaac’s rather neglected cock into his mouth and begins to work three fingers into him. Isaac can’t seem to decide whether to rock up into Peter’s mouth or down onto his fingers, so Peter doesn’t make him choose, holding his head still as his fingers push deeper, letting Isaac shallowly fuck his mouth. Roman, who is rather too enthusiastic to have mouth-fucking privileges, is the one who makes the wanton noise this this time.
Peter takes his time with this part, letting Isaac’s body adjust to the burn of the extra finger, fucking him deep and slow until Isaac’s hips are rocking impatiently with it. Then Peter’s fingers find his prostate and rub it relentlessly, and Isaac arches up like he wants to hit the ceiling, hard enough that he hits the back of Peter’s throat, which convulses around him as Peter gags and jerks his head up until it’s only the head of Isaac’s cock in his mouth.
“Oh, fuck, Peter, I’m sorry, I’m so close, fuck, please-”
Peter doesn’t even lift his mouth to answer. The hum of his nuh uh vibrates through Isaac’s cock and straight into his soul but he doesn’t move even an inch closer to that precipice, and it’s only then that the truth of the situation sinks in. He shudders as Peter’s fingers keep rubbing, as Issac’s hips keep rocking into the heat of his mouth like his body is in on this with Peter. It’s so fucking good, and it’s not going to end until Peter wants it to.
Isaac whimpers as it feels like his cock somehow gets even harder, as somehow being entirely at Peter’s mercy makes it feel even better. And Peter knows, Isaac realizes suddenly, because he can feel Peter smile, lips stretching and curving around his cock, and when he looks down Peter’s looking back up at him. He hums again, and this time it’s mmm hmm, and Isaac realizes as his eyes threaten to roll back into his head that he might just maybe be in trouble.
Incredibly good trouble.
“Oh, god…” he whimpers as Peter’s fingers scissor and rub and the tip of his tongue momentarily parts the slit of Isaac’s cock, strokes the insanely sensitive skin there, and his toes curl so tight they crack. “You’re going to kill me.”
Peter sucks hard on Isaac’s cock as he lifts his mouth, enough that his lips pop when he pulls free. “Oh, precious,” he says, and his voice is rough and wanting, “I’d never. But I am going to fuck you blind.” Inside Isaac, his fingers curl, and Isaac’s eyes do roll back in his head this time.
“Fuck,” says Roman, and Isaac startles a little. He’d forgotten the other boy was even there. Peter soothes a kiss on one of the bruises he’s made on Isaac’s hip, bringing his focus back where Peter fully believes it should be. Isaac’s eyes open again when Peter’s fingers slide entirely free of Isaac’s body, leaving him with that familiar empty, almost bereft sensation that he knows isn’t going to last. Even so, he makes an impatient little noise, and Peter makes a sound that’s not quite a chuckle and not quite a growl as he stretches up the bed to kiss Isaac, tongue pushing past his lips. Isaac is pretty sure that he needs to kiss Peter more than he needs oxygen, or at least that something like that must be true because he forgets to breathe, chest heaving when their mouths part. He’s still working on getting air back when he feels Peter’s cock pressing against him, but that doesn’t stop him from impatiently wiggling his hips.
“Peter-” It comes out sounding much more like a whine than he’d meant it to, but Peter takes mercy on him and pushes past the initial resistance of his body. Isaac’s back arches and his hands scrabble until they find grip on Peter’s arms, and it’s not until Peter bends over to nuzzle his cheek and run soothing fingers through his hair that Isaac realizes he wants this so bad he’s literally shaking with it.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into Isaac’s ear, the one farthest from Roman and not meant for the other boy’s ears. “I’ve always got you, okay? You’re mine.” And as he wraps his legs tight around Peter’s hips he can feel the bruises on the insides of his thighs, and Isaac knows that there’s nothing romantic about the statement. You’re mine, Peter says, and he’s put his mark all over Isaac, made him bleed beneath the skin so that he’ll remember it’s so. He can hear Roman beside him, the rough unevenness of his breath and the drag of skin on skin, but the only thing that matters is the places where he and Peter touch, the burn and stretch of being filled, the pleasure that’s apparently starting to drive him out of his head if he’s having these kinds of thoughts. Peter kisses him, open-mouthed and clumsy, shifting his weight so that he can take hold of Isaac’s cock once again. It makes Isaac’s body squeeze around him, and Isaac keens as Peter sucks in a breath through his teeth. His grip stays gentle and slow, which is all Isaac thinks he can take at the moment without impaling himself on Peter’s cock in a desperate bid for completion he knows isn’t coming.
Yet.
Isaac isn’t sure if Roman is jealous of the intimate whispers Peter had given him, or if it’s just in Roman’s nature, but the moment that Peter slides home- slowly, painstakingly- the other blond is leaning in, lips ghosting across the shell of Isaac’s ear, teeth barely hinting at biting. His breath stutters in his throat, trying not to whine as he squirms his hips against Peter before turning his head away from Peter to look at Roman’s big, green eyes and pull him in for his own kiss.
It’s all teeth and biting and violence- the sort of violence that’s tainted with a desperation that’s tighter than a body should be able to withstand, and Peter has to bite back a moan when he watches it. Roman’s hand is still on his own cock, stroking, thumb rubbing down the underside and sliding back up slow as he kisses Isaac with more teeth than lips.
Peter wants to wait, but he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take, and it takes a long moment of watching the two of them, Isaac practically dazed with it by now, before he decides to make his presence more noteworthy, and he pulls back just slightly, almost so little where Isaac dismisses the feeling, before pressing back in, his cock dragging over the other boy’s prostate.
To say the least, Isaac notices that almost right away and cuts his lip on Roman’s teeth when he pulls back to whine, a high-pitched noise that rocks Peter to his core. Roman’s tongue peeks out, licking the blood on his teeth, and he leans back in, mouthing over the marks on Isaac’s neck, tongue trailing over his pulsepoint as he writhes at Peter’s ministrations.
There’s a moment of hesitance there, but no- Roman knows his place, he’d never actually do something like that while they’re in bed together, though Peter still has to fight back the strangest pang of possessive jealousy when he sees Roman’s tongue tracing over the marks that he’d made.
He pushes it down, rubs his thumb lightly over the head of Isaac’s cock, catching and spreading the fluid beaded there. They’re undeniably beautiful, all delicate bone and sinew, pale skin and pale hair and bright, pale eyes, cheeks blotched red with lust and violence. Peter sets a shallow pace, hitching up Isaac’s hips so that he’s more or less doing nothing but rubbing over his prostate. Each time Peter’s hips meet Isaac’s they jostle the bruises on his thighs and stretch the bruises on his hipbones and the ache only sweetens the hot tightness that keeps building in his belly.
Between Peter’s hand on his cock and the shallow, even thrust of his hips and Roman’s mouth on his neck Isaac’s losing the ability to think in anything like a coherent fashion, but some part of him is absolutely sure he should’ve come twice over by now at least. Instead he just wants, hands grasping and letting go, hips rocking needily as though just a little more something could bring him what he wants so very, very badly.
“Please-” his voice cracks on the word and his hand closes around Peter’s, tightening and stroking faster and he moans with relief as it gets better, gets more and closer, and then moments later in a terrible combination of pleasure and frustration as closer is still endlessly far from what he wants. Even still he can’t bring himself to stop, can’t make his fingers loosen around Peter’s or the muscles of his arm stop matching the rhythm of Peter’s cock setting off endless sparks inside him.
Isaac is too far gone to have any idea what Peter’s doing anymore, and Peter almost figures that’s a good thing, because it’s taking almost everything he has to hold back from pounding into the other boy until he can’t take it anymore. In his desperation Isaac keeps clenching around Peter, impossibly tight and hot and gorgeous, his whole body twitching with each thrust and every breath a whimpering moan. Roman is utterly enraptured, having licked Isaac’s lip until it ceased to bleed but still far too close, watching Isaac’s every squirm and twitch, each desperate thrust of his hands and hips, as though the other boy was something he very much wanted to devour.
And Peter knows, he knows, that he only has this moment right now because of Roman, which is the thing that keeps him from growling when Isaac’s eyes squinch up tight and his mouth curves into a shape that looks almost like pain and Roman makes a sound deep in his chest like he would give anything to be the one responsible for that, that fragile thing that Peter made and wants all for himself. It makes his hips roll harder and faster, until Isaac’s back arches with the pressure, driving his shoulders into the mattress with each thrust. His whole body is shaking, trembling like he’s freezing, the pressure of his legs wrapped around Peter’s waist like a vice, heels digging in as he keens.
“Peter- I can’t--I can’t, Peter, fuck, please-” It’s one of the most beautiful and terrible things Peter’s ever heard, and it makes his stomach tighten and heat. And he would have tried to hold out longer, just a little longer, but then he sees it, in the corner of Isaac’s right eye, and he can’t. He just can’t. Peter almost knocks into Roman as he leans forward, clumsy, presses his lips to Isaac’s skin, licks the tear away.
“Now, precious. I want you to come for me right now.”
Isaac makes an animal sound, half-hysterical with relief and need, edging higher as, for a few long seconds, he suddenly thinks that now that he can he won’t, that he’s so far gone that somehow it’s become impossible. The whine abruptly stops as orgasm hits him so hard he can’t breathe, his body suddenly so devoted to completing the wave of impossible pleasure that it drives all the air from his lungs. Peter had said he’d fuck him blind and it occurs to Isaac that somehow he actually has as his vision behind his eyelids goes black, then red, then white, and it’s the last thought he has before he can’t think anymore because there’s nothing but so much sensation that’s so good it actually hurts.
Peter doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything so tight or hot or perfect as the way Isaac’s body convulses around his cock, and he barely rides out the first few seconds of it before he presses his face into Isaac’s shoulder and comes, carried away nearly as far as Isaac is. Distantly, beneath the pounding of blood in his ears, he can hear the shuddery sound Roman always makes when he comes, can feel the warmth of something hitting his arm in counterpoint to the splatter of Isaac’s come on his belly and chest. Then his limbs abruptly stop working properly and he collapses on top of Isaac, their hands on his cock trapped between them. He can feel Isaac’s fingers go limp, the tension of his legs fading until they slide off of Peter’s hips and onto the mattress.
It’s a long minute or two before Peter can coordinate himself to slide off of Isaac, back into the too-small space between him and Roman. But Isaac still isn’t moving, his breathing finally slowing but still fast and shallow, body limp beyond the occasional aftershocky shudder. When Peter opens his eyes he can see the drying tracks of tears on Isaac’s face and he kisses them away, murmuring little nothing sounds as he does, hand soothing over Isaac’s neck and chest. Roman’s face is pressed to the back of Peter’s shoulder, rubbing his come into Peter’s skin in idle whorls like paisley. Peter doesn’t mind, settles against him until Roman cuddles up against his back, slides a leg between Peter’s legs.
Isaac still doesn’t move for another long moment, and when he does it’s only to turn his head and crack open his eyes. Until they focus he looks almost afraid, adrift in something he doesn’t understand. Then his eyes focus on Peter and he moves toward him with a little whine, as coordinated as a kitten.
“Shh, it’s me, I’m right here.” Peter gathers Isaac to him, the other boy a tangle of uncoordinated, trembling limbs, holds him close, his forehead pressed to Isaac’s forehead. “I’ve got you.” Isaac tries to hold on to Peter, but his body isn’t quite obeying him, so in the end he makes do with Peter holding on to him, one arm under Isaac’s neck and the other wrapped around him, one of Isaac’s legs draped over Peter’s hip and partially onto Roman to keep him there. Peter’s hands soothe at him, holding his head, rubbing his back while he trembles. Isaac looks at him like the windows of him are flown wide open, like the wall that he keeps between himself and the world is nothing but dust and tatters while Peter looks back at him like it’s the most beautiful and perfect thing he’s ever seen, like someone who desperately wants to be allowed to keep something like that even for the littlest while.
But he knows Isaac, and he knows that at any moment Roman could look over his shoulder, so he tucks Isaac’s face into the crook of his neck, and Isaac makes a soft, relieved little sound and nuzzles his skin, curling into Peter like he’s the warmest thing he knows. It puts Peter’s mouth near Isaac’s ear and he murmurs into it, a cadence of affections and reassurances pitched only for his understanding, and mostly the sound of Peter’s voice, warm and low. Eventually, Isaac’s arms come around him, holding almost too tightly, like Peter is a buoy in a vast sea. Behind Peter, Roman shifts, unsure if the proper response to Isaac being like this is concern or impatience. In the end, he seems to decide somewhere in the middle, because he kisses Peter’s exposed neck and mumbles something about going to have a bath, but he covers them both up with the blanket before he goes, tucking it snug around Isaac’s shaking shoulders. Peter turns his head enough to smile at Roman before he stands up, and Roman’s face lights and softens in that way it sometimes does, and Roman leans in to kiss him with the gentle, wondering devotion that he sometimes has. Sometimes that makes Peter uncomfortable, wraps him up in a warmth that threatens to smother, but in this moment it makes him glad he did. Then he’s gone, and the door closes with a gentle click, and Peter turns back to Isaac, buries his nose in sweat-damp curls and sighs against Isaac’s scalp. For whatever reason, this makes Isaac relax, some of his trembling easing.
“Did you do that on purpose?” Peter finally asks, when Isaac stops trembling and finally relaxes against Peter instead of clinging to him. Then his shoulders start shaking again, although this time it’s in an exhausted sort of laughter.
“Yeah,” he admits, the word little more than a puff of air against Peter’s shoulder. “Not regretting it yet. Might tomorrow.” Then it’s Peter’s turn to laugh.
“You’re gonna sleep until tomorrow, precious,” he replies and drops a kiss onto Isaac’s temple, eliciting a pleased little grumble.
“Whose fault is that?” He’s too sleepy and intensely well-fucked to even pretend to sound properly cranky about it.
“Technically Roman’s, but I’ll accept responsibility anyway.” The grin is obvious in Peter’s voice. “Go to sleep. Roman’ll wake us up eventually for food and watering.”
“Hnn,” says Isaac, nuzzling into a more comfortable position with his face jammed into Peter’s neck. And then, after awhile, when Peter thinks he might be asleep, “that was pretty fucking perfect, y’know.”
“You’re pretty fucking perfect, you know,” Peter responds, rubbing the roughness of his cheek against Isaac’s in a way he knows the other boy likes more than he admits. “You trying to get me to tell you pretty things until you fall asleep?”
There’s a moment of silence, and Isaac blows out a breath, hot on Peter’s skin. “Maybe.”
Peter chuckles, presses his lips to Isaac’s skin. “What could I tell you now that I didn’t just tell you then?”
Isaac shifts one of his hands, slides it between them so that it’s resting over Peter’s heart, so he can feel the slight, steady throb of it beneath his palm. “Nothing, I guess,” he answers after he counts twenty of Peter’s heartbeats.
“So sleep.” Peter settles, slots his leg between Isaac’s, tilts his head so that it’s resting more on the pillow than on Isaac’s head.
“Okay,” Isaac mumbles, the word half a sigh, and he does.