Angelo had always enjoyed the challenge of kissing, enjoyed seeing what he could achieve using only mouth against mouth, lips and teeth and tongue making promises about what they could do if granted access to other portions of his partner's anatomy. In this area, at least, he was as adept at keeping promises as at making them.
Nonetheless, Jessica's response to him the previous night had been a pleasant surprise, passion flaring as if it had needed only an excuse to be set free, still smoldering in her eyes after they'd parted. The moment he'd seen her on the stairs, he'd wanted to test whether he could summon that response from her again; judging from Jessica's soft cry as he tasted the softness of her bottom lip, nipping gently, tracing the sensitive skin with his tongue, he was accomplishing everything he'd hoped.
In more ways than one, a glance to the side revealed. Eight was transfixed by the display, just as he had been the night before.
"I think we should take this to the bedroom," Angelo said against Jessica's cheek.
Jessica shuddered a little at his breath caressing her skin, a small, pleased sound emerging from her throat. "I think you're right." She opened her eyes, looked at Eight, then away, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. She didn't object; he hadn't expected her to, not the way she'd been looking at Eight when he came up the stairs, how she trembled and leaned into his touch now.
Angelo turned his head to look fully at Eight, who was even more flushed than Jessica, his breath coming quick and eager. It took the other man a moment to gather his wits enough to realize he was being watched; when he did, Angelo said, "We're in agreement then?"
Eight didn't precisely answer, but his breath caught and his eyes widened, sweeping again over Jessica, lingering on the place where Angelo's fingers rested against her breast, and Angelo trusted him to follow them back to Jessica's room.
Jessica tensed when the door to the room closed; for a moment, doubt pushed aside the desire in her eyes. "Are you all right?" Angelo asked, keeping his voice too low for Eight to hear.
"I don't...both of you, I don't..." She faltered and looked up at him, not quite meeting his eyes, so that he couldn't tell if she was begging for reassurance or rescue.
"I won't let you be hurt," he said, surprised by just how much he meant the promise. "If you don't want..."
"I'd hardly have let the two of you in here if I didn't want," she said; her voice shook slightly, but now her eyes met his, steady and defiant.
"Then I'm the last person to try to dissuade you," he replied, settling his hands on her shoulders, kneading away the hints of tension he found there. She sighed, her eyes closing, and he kissed her again, half afraid the mad impulse carrying them along had been lost.
There was only a moment's hesitation before her lips parted, her arms went around his neck and she pressed against him, so close he could barely think for wanting her. It was tempting to forget Eight was there, standing unobtrusively by the door, to focus solely on Jessica and his own need. But Eight was there, watching and helpless and hungry, an opportunity that might never come again if he let it pass.
"If you're sure," he murmured when they finally parted, "I think I ought to keep Eight from bolting before we're ready for him."
She giggled, and glanced over her shoulder to where Eight was still frozen by the door. No secret he's been enjoying the show, Angelo thought wryly, for all his eyes look ready to pop out of his head. Goddess, how he stayed so damned innocent growing up in a castle, when I couldn't manage it in an abbey, is beyond me.
Eight didn't seem to register Angelo's approach, his gaze still fixed on Jessica; Angelo turned enough when he reached Eight's side to see that she was in the process of removing her blouse. Her back wasn't quite to them, and when she stretched her arms up to pull the fabric over her head Eight made a tiny choking noise.
"Spectacular, isn't she?" Angelo moved between Eight and the door, watching Jessica over Eight's shoulder. "She's even more amazing close up."
It took a moment, but Eight managed to tear his gaze away from Jessica and look back at Angelo. "I shouldn't be here," he whispered, his voice ragged. "It's not...not..."
"Nonsense." Angelo rested his hands on Eight's shoulders; his clothing was damp from his foray into the rain, but he'd been back inside long enough that he was warm beneath Angelo's palms. "She wants you here." He leaned closer, so that Eight shuddered at the touch of breath against his cheek. "I want you here." Eight wasn't turned quite enough to grant easy access to his mouth; Angelo ducked his head to lightly nip the skin beneath his ear, then whispered, "You want to be here, don't you?"
Eight made that sound again, and Angelo's hands slid down Eight's arms, taking the long gold jacket with them. The fabric hung on Eight's belt; Angelo took the excuse to wrap his arms around the other man, unfastened the belt, leather and metal and useless cloth dropping unheeded to the floor while Angelo slid his hands lower, until Eight moaned and pressed into his touch.
Jessica was watching them, now; Angelo knew it without looking, but still flicked his gaze toward her while his lips followed the side of Eight's neck to his shoulder, and his hands worked beneath the blue tunic to unfasten Eight's trousers. No more coy half-turn; she faced them with lips slightly parted, bare breasts moving enticingly with each quick breath.
As avid an audience as Eight was, Angelo thought. It would be a shame for her to miss any of the show.
He resisted the temptation of Eight's cock, straining against his half-open trousers, and instead caught the edge of the tunic. "Can't leave you over-dressed," he explained to Eight's faint protest, and tugged the tunic over his head, divesting him of the bandana at the same time. Then he ran his hands down Eight's bare chest, watching Jessica follow the circuitous path he was tracing on Eight's skin.
"Angelo..." Eight squirmed back against him; like Jessica, he was far past embarrassment.
"Shh." He finally relented, sliding his hands down the flat plane of Eight's stomach, pushing his trousers down and wrapping one hand around his erection. He kept his touch light at first, teasing, tormenting, acutely aware of the heat of Eight's body tight against his, of Jessica's rapt attention and the sway of her breasts.
Distraction, distraction.
He forced his attention away from his growing need, from the pleasant shift and press of Eight's backside against his groin as Eight squirmed impatiently. He raised his gaze to Jessica's face, focused only on the play of desire across her features as she watched his hand on Eight's cock. The rest of his attention was on the soft skin he was stroking, the inarticulate sounds that told him when he'd gotten pace and pressure just right.
It was no surprise when Eight stiffened just a few moments later, spilling hot and sticky over Angelo's hand, then sagging back into Angelo's hold. Angelo held him until his legs and breathing both steadied, until he finally went still with a different kind of tension, the kind that meant he was thinking again.
"Jessica seems to be ready for us," Angelo said, hoping to divert Eight from whatever doubts were stirring, "and I suspect we'll regret it if we keep her waiting."
"I...I'm not...I shouldn't...Goddess, I don't..."
Angelo half smiled and saved him from having to actually complete a sentence. "Never disappoint a lady, my friend."
He glanced up at Jessica, and after a moment she crossed the distance between them. The look in her eyes was more resolution than desire, as if she'd made up her mind to go through with this whether she wanted to or not, which troubled him even though he suspected it was how Jessica dealt with anything that made her nervous. Still, only a madman would want to dissuade her, even if he could. Far better to ensure she enjoyed herself.
Then she slid her arms around Eight, kissing him with an intensity that made Angelo's cock ache, and he decided ensuring her enjoyment wouldn't be a problem, either.
He took advantage of their distraction, rinsing his hands clean in the basin in the corner. He returned to run his fingers lightly up Jessica's back; she gasped at his cool, damp skin against hers, pressing her head back when he cupped her neck.
It was all the invitation Angelo needed to kiss her, lips nipping at the side of her throat; he reached out to pull Eight closer when the other man would have retreated. For a moment, he kept his grip firm on Eight's forearm, then let his hand trail down until his fingers were twined with Eight's and he could guide their hands to Jessica's bare breast.
She gasped when they touched her, leaning against Angelo for support, her own hand coming up to cover theirs. She was trembling, muscles tensing beneath the hand he'd shifted from her neck to her back, but now her expression and ragged breathing assured Angelo that her response was prompted only by passion, not fear.
"Bed," he whispered against her neck, and shifted so that his arms were around both of them, maneuvering them in the direction they wanted to go. The bed wasn't really large enough for all of them, yet they managed, Jessica on her back in the middle, Eight and Angelo on either side, close enough that it was natural, easy, inevitable that they should touch each other as well as her.
Jessica moaned softly as Angelo circled his tongue around her nipple, delighting in the texture of the rigid flesh, while his hand slid up her stomach, fingertips tracing delicate lines across her skin. Eight stroked her other breast, pressed soft kisses down the line of her shoulder.
Angelo thought he was being entirely too reserved.
He caught Eight's hand, covered it, squeezed gently. Jessica made a breathy sound of protest when Angelo raised his head to kiss Eight's sword-callused palm.
Then Angelo moved Eight's hand between Jessica's legs, and her back arched in pleasure at their combined touch.
It was almost too much, the way Jessica trembled between them, head pressed back into the pillow, soft, breathy sounds escaping her lips as Angelo deftly guided Eight's explorations of her body. His cock ached and demanded until he was nearly shaking as well, with the effort of not doing anything that might break the spell weaving the three of them together.
He withdrew his fingers from Jessica's heat, leaving her to Eight's rapidly-emboldening touch, and slid off the too-narrow bed.
A moment later, he was kneeling on the floor behind Eight, tracing patterns on the small of his back, kissing the length of his spine. He pressed his hand against Eight's hip, urged him toward Jessica. Face flushed, Eight knelt between her spread thighs; Angelo's hand, still wet from her, ran lightly over Eight's hard cock. Eight let out a wordless cry, hips bucking into Angelo's touch, and Angelo smiled, again guiding him as he entered her. Jessica arched up, eager and welcoming, and the sight of her - them - finally undid both his self control and his good intentions.
He sprawled across the bed to kiss her, hand fumbling with his trousers. Her teeth had sunk into her lip; a hint of blood greeted him when his tongue slipped into her mouth. He closed his eyes, lost himself in taste and sound and scent, effortlessly catching their rhythm and stroking himself in time to it. His mouth left hers, traced hot, wet trails over sweat-slick skin; her arm went around him, holding him close, fingers echoing the patterns he was making.
He felt Jessica's breath catch, felt muscles tense and strain upward. A moment later she cried out, her hand clawing at Angelo's back, tangling in his hair. The sound, the hint of pain, went straight to Angelo's cock; he turned his head, pillowed against Jessica's breast, enough to see Eight's final, erratic thrusts, and his own body tightened and shuddered with release.
Eight sank down, listing a bit toward Angelo, who shifted as much as he could with Jessica's fingers still twined in his hair. We'll need to find an inn with larger beds, Angelo thought as they settled into an awkward tangle. Or at least give our arrangements a bit more consideration next time.
The thought gave him a moment's pause. Next time had always been a matter more of necessity than desire - Simpleton was a small town with few visitors - and since leaving the abbey he had reveled in the lack of next times rather than regretted them. He had, after all, barely begun to sample the pleasures the world had to offer.
And yet.
He sighed and shifted, wrapping his arms around them both. The storm was still raging; it was entirely possible that next time would happen in this very room, assuming they both were willing. Giving it a bit of thought was hardly the same as tying himself to them for life.
And if they were willing, there were certainly worse ways to wait out a storm.
