For Angelo, kissing was always a production. He enjoyed seeing what he could achieve using only mouth against mouth; judging from Jessica's cry as he tasted the softness of her bottom lip, nipping gently, tracing the sensitive skin with his tongue, he was achieving what he'd hoped.
He never considered other benefits, until he noticed the effect watching the kiss was having on Eight.
As soon as the three of them were alone, he intended to see Eight's reaction to being kissed.
Angelo was never one to let an opportunity slip by, even if he had to create it himself.
Angelo slid his hands over Jessica's bare breasts, teasing the nipples with gentle brushes of his fingertips. Eight still made no move to join them, and while it was possible he simply enjoyed watching, Angelo suspected he was overwhelmed.
And how he stayed so damned innocent growing up in a castle, when I couldn't manage it in an abbey, is beyond me.
An apologetic stroke along Jessica's hip, and he left her long enough to pull Eight closer. "You were planning on joining us?"
Eight shuddered at Angelo's breath ghosting along his skin, and Angelo took that as a yes.
Jessica moaned softly as Angelo circled his tongue around her nipple, delighting in the texture of the rigid flesh. Eight's hand stroked her other breast, his mouth pressed soft kisses down the line of her shoulder.
Angelo thought he was being entirely too reserved.
His hand slid up her stomach, fingertips tracing delicate lines across her skin. He caught Eight's hand, covered it, squeezed gently. Jessica made a breathy sound of protest as Angelo raised his head to kiss Eight's sword-callused palm.
Then Angelo guided Eight's hand between Jessica's legs, and her back arched in pleasure at their combined touch.
Jessica trembled between them, head pressed back into the pillow. Angelo withdrew his fingers, 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, guiding him into her.
Her teeth had sunk into her lip; a hint of blood greeted him as he sprawled across the bed to kiss her. He turned his head, watched the sway of her breasts, the ripple of Eight's muscles as he thrust, stroked himself to their rhythm.
Jessica cried out, thighs tightening against Eight's hips, hand clawing at Angelo's back, tangling in his hair.
Angelo raised his eyes to Eight's face. Their eyes locked; he felt the familiar drawing and release of tension, simultaneous with Eight's gasping cry.
Eight sank down by Jessica's side, and Angelo curved his arms around them both.
Jessica tipped her head back against Angelo's shoulder, belly tightening as warm, sure hands replaced the caressing heat from the fireplace. After struggling down the snowy mountainside to Orkutsk, both types of warmth felt good.
"Are you awake?" Angelo's breath tickled her ear.
Her hand found his hip, slid forward to encircle his cock. "Mmmhmm."
A nip on her inner thigh made her eyes snap open. "She's awake now," Eight laughed. "Think we can keep her that way?"
Angelo's fingers made promises while Eight kissed his way up her thigh, and Jessica suspected remaining awake would not be a problem.
Paw-shaped bruises marred Eight's chest; nobody had magic left after the attack. Angelo kissed carefully around them; Jessica was similarly careful as she kissed near the bite on the side of his throat.
Eight had given up assuring them he was fine.
Warm, unlike when they pulled the hellhound's body off, dug him out of the ice and snow, but his skin still tasted of the cold.
Angelo sank to his knees, traced his tongue along the welts the hellhound had left across Eight's stomach. Eight gasped, pushed him down to his waiting cock.
Perhaps Eight was fine after all.
Angelo half-woke to the sound of whispers and tearing fabric, woke fully when his arms were drawn back and bound, discovering his eyes were already covered. "What...?"
Lips against his, silencing him, making him forget to struggle. Soft hands on his shoulders, rougher hands on his bound arms.
"You said something about us lacking initiative," Eight said, body curving against his back, hard cock nudging his ass.
Jessica's mouth finally released his. "So we decided we'd show some." Her hand wrapped around him; he realized he was already hard. "Do you approve?"
"Yes," he breathed, and pushed into her hold.
He tracked them by sound when they weren't touching him, found himself jealous of every gasp and murmur of pleasure he couldn't see. He could easily picture what Eight had done for Jessica to make that sound, the reason for Eight's soft groan a moment later.
It was worse, though, when he could feel them, near but not touching, hear them breathing in the darkness, feel their heat, just heat, caressing his skin. His entire body ached for them, in a way it never did when he could see them.
But when they touched him, all the waiting was worthwhile.
He sank into a blur of pure sensation, unsure of any but the most obvious things. The breast pressed to his lips was Jessica's. The cock that rubbed against his was Eight's. The pleading whimper was his own.
His shoulders ached from unconsciously fighting his bonds, trying to reach for them.
He couldn't begin to tell whose tongue ran slow strokes the length of his erection, swirled around the head, trailed slowly back to the base, or whose oil-slick fingers pressed into him with the same agonizing slowness.
They were ruthless, and he had no desire to beg for mercy.
Hands tight on his hips, Eight pressing into him, Jessica's mouth encircling him. He hung suspended between them, until the tension they'd spent an eternity building in him finally found release.
Gentle hands eased him to the bedding, pulled the blindfold away, unbound his arms. He drifted, half-asleep, heard Jessica cry out, and then they were on either side.
"You okay?" Eight asked, kissing his shoulder.
Angelo nodded, found the energy to wrap an arm around Jessica. "I think..."
Jessica curled closer. "You think you're okay?"
He fingered the soft strip of torn blanket. "I think we should take turns."
Jessica knew she shouldn't let herself get used to it.
She couldn't imagine ever not wanting them with her, touching and tasting, bodies thrumming with shared energy, moving fast and desperate or slow and gentle, touch and taste and sweat and connection. No matter how exhausted they were, when they were together each received what they needed, gave what the others needed.
As the quest grew more desperate, the defeats more heartbreaking, they found more opportunities to be together.
Jessica knew she shouldn't let herself get used to it. But she still slept better when they were both with her.
Angelo normally woke first.
Sometimes, he would kiss Jessica awake, nibble across her skin, tease her with his fingers until she squirmed and made little sounds that woke Eight; only then would Angelo enter her, and they'd both come under Eight's approving gaze.
Sometimes, those long, elegant fingers wrapped around Eight's cock, instead; it was Eight who squirmed and whimpered until Jessica woke and Angelo finally kissed down his body, took him in his mouth.
Sometimes, Angelo woke them both, and they were able to make him squirm and whimper and beg.
Eight couldn't decide which method he liked best.
The first night after the destruction of Neos, they respected his request to be alone. The second, after a day of moody silence and blue eyes dark with strain, they didn't.
He refused to acknowledge them, but they knew him too well for his body to ignore them.
Persistent hands and mouths on skin, tensed muscles, a softly muttered curse. Fingers tight enough to leave bruises when he pulled them close. Teeth and sweat and rhythmic gasps that bordered on sobs when the tension at last left him.
Head pillowed on Eight's chest, Jessica curled against his back, he slept.
Some days, he was tempted to tell them he was tired of being used, and simply walk away. He'd gone with them on Marcello's orders, true, but he'd never had difficulty ignoring orders before; with Dhoulmagus dead, the excuse of revenge was gone, and once Jessica returned to them, he lost that excuse, too.
He told himself it was temporary, an amusement until a girl with a pretty face or lad with a clever mouth proved more amusing. But inevitably, it was Eight whose strong body pressed against him, Jessica whose taste lingered on his lips.
And so he stayed.
Written for Centi-Porn. Theme Set II - Themes 1-15
