WARNING: Mature Content
We lie there in a tangle of limbs and satisfaction, the room quiet except for our gradually slowing breathing.
Cecil is curled against my side, his long hair spread across my chest. Dylan is wrapped around both of us from behind, his arm draped over both of us possessively.
I'm completely spent, floating in that perfect post-orgasm haze where everything feels soft and warm and right.
After several minutes, Cecil stirs slightly.
"I should shower," he murmurs, his voice sleep-rough and adorable.
Dylan's arm tightens around us.
"Should you?" he asks, and there's something in his tone that makes me smile.
Cecil lifts his head to look at Dylan, confused. "I'm... messy."
"You are," I agree, running my fingers through his hair. "But did you really think that was the end?"
Cecil's eyes widen. "What?"
"Beautiful," I say gently, turning to face him properly. "We told you we were going to remind you thoroughly who you belong to. Did you think one round would be enough?"
"I—" Cecil's face flushes. "But you both already—"
"We have eternity now," Dylan says, his hand sliding down Cecil's arm. "And excellent stamina. One of the perks of being Celestian."
Understanding dawns on Cecil's face, followed by a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
"Oh," he breathes.
"Oh indeed," I murmur, leaning in to kiss him.
---
We take our time with him.
Round two is slower, more deliberate. Dylan takes the lead this time while I hold Cecil, whispering praise and encouragement, making him blush with each word.
Round three has both of us working together, overwhelming him with sensation until he's begging for more.
By round four, Cecil is barely coherent, completely lost in pleasure.
And when he passes out—sated and exhausted and thoroughly claimed—Dylan and I exchange a satisfied look.
"We might have overdone it," I say, though I don't sound particularly concerned.
"Possibly," Dylan agrees, equally unconcerned. "But look at him."
I do. Cecil is sprawled across the bed, his hair a mess, marks covering his skin, completely wrecked in the best way.
"He's going to be sore tomorrow," I observe.
"Good," Dylan says. "He'll remember exactly who he belongs to every time he moves."
I can't argue with that logic.
"We should clean him up," I say, carefully sitting up. "Let him sleep properly."
Dylan nods, and we work together—gently cleaning Cecil with warm cloths, making sure he's comfortable, tucking him under the blankets.
He doesn't even stir through it, completely exhausted.
Once we're sure he's settled, we both pull on pajama pants and slip out of the room quietly, leaving the door cracked so we can hear if he needs us.
The apartment is dark and quiet.
"I'm going to wash the bed sheets from my room," I say, heading toward my bedroom. "We made a mess earlier."
Dylan nods. "Good idea."
I strip the sheets from my bed, gathering them into a bundle. They definitely need washing after what we did.
While we were waiting for Cecil to come back, we drank some tea together in my room and I accidentally spilled my cup when I was trying to stop Dylan from searching my room.
I head to the laundry room, tossing the sheets into the washing machine and adding detergent.
I'm just closing the machine door when I hear footsteps behind me.
Then the laundry room door closes with a soft click.
I turn to find Dylan standing there, that predatory look in his eyes that I've come to recognize.
"Dylan?" I ask, my heart rate picking up. "What—"
He moves forward quickly, backing me up against the counter, his hands finding my hips.
"You know," he says quietly, his eyes dark, "even though I was glad Cecil got to see your submissive side—got to watch you fall apart like that—I was also jealous."
My breath catches. "Jealous?"
"Mmm." His hands slide around to my lower back, pulling me against him. "Jealous that he got to see you like that. That he got to watch you completely surrender while I was the one making you fall apart."
Heat floods through me.
Did he just admit he was jealous of Cecil seeing me like that?
"You sound like you want to do it again." I tease but realise my mistake the moment he smiles.
"You're right," Dylan says simply. "I do."
"Dylan—"
"Bend over the counter, sweetheart," he says, his voice taking on that commanding edge that makes me melt.
"We just—Cecil is right down the hall—"
"Cecil is unconscious and will be for hours," Dylan says. "And I want you. Now."
I should protest. Should point out that we've already done this once tonight.
But instead I find myself turning around and bending over the counter.
"Good boy," Dylan murmurs, and the praise makes me shiver.
He makes quick work of my pajama pants, sliding them down while keeping his eyes on me.
He throws them aside and stands to his full height before leaning on me, his chest pressed against my back.
His lips explore my neck and shoulders while his hand slides down my spine.
I shiver under his touch and he chuckles.
"Just a while ago, you were calling Cecil the sensitive one. Looks like you have something in common, sweetheart."
One of his fingers brushes against my hole before he pushes it inside.
I moan from the sudden sensation and he pulls me by my hair.
The grip isn't painful. More like grounding and possessive.
"See? I don't even have to prepare you since we did it earlier." He says against my ear.
I laugh, but the sound soon turns into a moan as he adds another fingers.
"In that case, what are you waiting for?" I ask him, actually curious.
"Sweetheart, I need you to feel good as well. And I can't do that if you are just going to feel that pain."
I look at him. "But we did it earlier..."
"Keith. Don't forget that you're still a man. You don't have special powers like Cecil. If I don't prepare you enough, you might not be able to enjoy it."
I pout. "Are my powers not special enough?"
He smiles and adds a third finger as he bites my neck, sending waves of pleasure down my spine.
"They are special too, Keith. Just in different situations."
He suddenly pulls his fingers out and just as I am going to ask him why, I feel it.
The tip of his cock rubbing against my entrance, waiting for my consent.
"May I?" He asks, as if he didn't know that there is only one possible answer.
I nod and he doesn't washing even a second before pushing his whole length inside me.
Even though he did prepare me, the slight pain is there.
I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
After making sure I'm adjusted, he finds his rhythm.
It's different from earlier—rougher, more desperate, like Dylan needs to claim me all over again.
"So perfect," Dylan breathes, his hands tightening on my hips. "Always so perfect for me, sweetheart."
I grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay quiet, but it's impossible when Dylan knows exactly how to take me apart.
My legs start to shake after a few minutes, barely able to hold me up.
Dylan - of course- notices immediately.
"Can't even stand properly," he observes, not slowing down. "So wrecked for me."
"Dylan," I gasp. "I can't—"
He pulls out suddenly, and before I can process what's happening, he's lifting me.
"What are you—"
He turns me to face him and lifts me onto the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist, and pushes back inside in one smooth motion.
"Much better," he says, his hands supporting me. "Now I can see your face."
"Dylan, put me down," I manage, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm too heavy—"
He smiles—actually smiles—and the tenderness in it makes my chest tight.
"You look cute like this," he says, leaning in to kiss me. "All flustered and worried about nothing."
"I'm not—"
He moves, and the angle is completely different like this, hitting places that make me see stars.
"Oh god," I gasp, my head falling back.
"That's it," Dylan encourages. "Let me hear you, sweetheart."
I try to stay quiet, I really do, but it's impossible.
A moan escapes me—louder than I intended.
Dylan's hand comes up to cover my mouth gently.
"Shh," he whispers against my ear. "If you keep making sounds like that, you're going to wake Cecil."
The thought of Cecil waking up and hearing us makes me clench around Dylan involuntarily.
"Oh, you like that idea," Dylan observes, his voice dark with amusement. "Like the thought of him knowing we're out here, that I couldn't keep my hands off you."
I whimper against his hand, completely overwhelmed.
Dylan's rhythm picks up, and I'm desperately trying to stay quiet but it's so hard when every thrust makes me want to scream.
"So good for me," Dylan murmurs. "Taking me so well. My perfect sweetheart."
The praise combined with the angle and the intensity of it all pushes me over the edge.
I come with Dylan's hand still over my mouth, muffling my cries, my whole body shaking.
Dylan follows moments later with a low groan, his forehead pressed against mine.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, trembling.
Finally, Dylan carefully pulls out and helps me down from the counter.
My legs immediately try to give out, and he catches me.
"Easy," he murmurs. "I've got you."
"I can't feel my legs," I manage.
"Good," Dylan says, satisfaction clear in his voice.
He helps me clean up, then supports most of my weight as we make our way back to his room.
Cecil is still asleep, exactly as we left him.
Dylan helps me into bed, and I immediately curl up against Cecil.
Dylan wraps around both of us from behind.
"Sleep," he murmurs. "You're going to need it."
I want to ask what he means by that, but exhaustion is pulling at me.
I let my eyes close, surrounded by warmth and safety.
Tomorrow's problem, I think hazily. Walking will be tomorrow's problem.
---
The Next Morning
I wake up slowly, awareness returning in pieces.
Warmth. Safety. The familiar scent of Dylan's room.
And soreness.
So much soreness.
Every muscle in my body aches, but especially—
Oh god.
Memories of last night flood back. The bedroom. The laundry room. Dylan's insatiable need to claim me over and over.
I try to shift slightly and immediately regret it.
A small sound of pain escapes me.
"Keith?" Cecil's voice, concerned and still sleep-rough.
I open my eyes to find him watching me, worry clear on his face.
"Morning, beautiful," I manage.
"Are you okay? You made a sound—"
"I'm fine. Just sore."
Dylan chooses that moment to wake up, stretching like a cat and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Morning," he says cheerfully.
Too cheerfully.
Suspiciously cheerfully.
"You're evil," I tell him.
"You didn't complain last night," he points out.
Cecil looks between us, confused. "What happened last night? After I—" He stops, his face going red as he remembers passing out.
"Nothing you need to worry about," I say quickly.
"Keith and I had a conversation," Dylan says innocently. "In the laundry room."
"A conversation," I repeat flatly.
"A very thorough conversation," Dylan agrees, his eyes dancing with amusement.
Understanding dawns on Cecil's face, followed by a blush that spreads down his neck.
"Oh," he says quietly.
"Oh indeed," Dylan murmurs.
I try to sit up and immediately regret it.
Everything hurts.
"Do you need help?" Cecil asks, concerned.
"No, I'm fine, I just—"
I try to stand and my legs immediately protest.
I sit back down heavily on the bed.
"Okay, maybe I need a minute."
Dylan is definitely smirking now.
"Something funny?" I ask.
"You look cute when you can barely walk," he says.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He's right. I don't.
But I'm definitely making him carry me if I need to go anywhere today.
Cecil looks between us, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.
"Should I ask?" he says.
"No," I say immediately.
"Probably not," Dylan agrees.
Cecil's lips twitch like he's trying not to smile.
"You're both ridiculous," he says fondly.
"But you love us anyway," I point out.
"I do," Cecil agrees. "Even when you apparently destroy each other in the laundry room."
"I didn't—" I start to protest.
Dylan's hand covers my mouth gently.
"Don't ruin the mystery, sweetheart," he says.
I glare at him, but there's no heat in it.
Cecil laughs—genuine and bright—and the sound makes everything worth it.
The soreness, the inability to walk properly, all of it.
Worth it to hear him laugh like that.
To see him happy and loved and ours.
"Breakfast?" Dylan suggests.
"You're cooking," I say immediately. "I'm not moving for at least an hour."
"Fair enough," Dylan agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple before sliding out of bed with entirely too much ease.
Show off.
Cecil curls up against me once Dylan leaves.
"Are you really okay?" he asks quietly.
"I'm perfect," I assure him. "Just very thoroughly reminded that Dylan is possessive as hell."
Cecil's face goes red again, but he's smiling.
"I love you," he says.
"Love you too, beautiful."
And lying there, sore and happy and completely content, I think about how far we've all come.
From dancing around each other for decades to this.
To being so comfortable with each other that Dylan can wreck me in the laundry room and I can complain about it while still being absurdly happy.
To having Cecil here with us, part of us, ours forever.
It's perfect.
Even if I can't walk properly.
Totally worth it.