Chapter 19 House Rules #2
I moved around the table and got down onto my knees on the kitchen floor, and the position registered in every remaining dignified part of my brain as entirely new and entirely beyond arguing with.
Dmitri came off the table. Troy followed, dropping to stand beside him, and they were both there in front of me, both hard and both close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off them.
Troy looked down at me with an expression I'd never seen on his face before, with awareness lit underneath the want, with the knowledge of exactly how significant this was.
“Look at you,” he said softly.
Dmitri ran the head of his cock along my jaw slow and unhurried, dragging the wet tip from my jaw to my cheekbone and back, leaving heat and slick in its wake while he watched my face with focused attention.
I turned toward it.
He pulled back just enough.
Troy did the same on the other side, pressing his cock to my cheek and rolling his hips gently so it dragged across my skin, and the sound that came out of me was nothing I'd planned to make.
“Open,” Troy said.
I opened my mouth.
Dmitri pressed the head to my lips without pushing in and let me feel the weight of him there, the heat, the salt taste of pre-come against my tongue when I pressed forward slightly.
Then he pulled back and Troy took his place, pushing inside just far enough for me to close my lips around the head and feel his sharp inhale from above.
Then he pulled out.
“Bastard,” I said.
Dmitri laughed, genuine and low. Then he spit on his own cock, wrapped a hand around himself, and pressed back against my lips while Troy pressed alongside him, both of them at my mouth simultaneously.
It was too much, thick and hot and impossible to take both at once, and they knew it and weren't interested in mercy.
I worked them both with my lips and tongue, turning from one to the other, and the sounds both men made above me were gratifyingly uncontrolled.
Dmitri's hand went into my hair. Troy's thumb pressed against my lower lip, pulling my mouth open wider and watching what was happening to my face with dark eyes.
“He looks incredible,” Dmitri said, directed at Troy and conversational, like discussing this while I was between them was entirely normal.
“Told you,” Troy said.
Dmitri pulled back and turned. He grabbed Troy by the jaw and kissed him hard with one hand fisting in his hair, and the shift happened fast and fluid.
Troy made a sound against his mouth that was immediate and hungry with his hands going up to Dmitri's chest, his palms spreading over the tattoos that covered his pecs and ribs.
I watched from below while catching my breath, both of them above me, Troy's hands moving across Dmitri's chest and stomach with a focus that looked like reverence.
He traced the geometric lines of the tattoos with his fingertips, his palms, his mouth pulling off Dmitri's lips to press against his collarbone instead, working downward with a deliberateness that had Dmitri's jaw tightening visibly.
“These,” Troy said against his chest. “Been wanting to do this since you got here.”
“Da.” Dmitri's voice had gone rough. His hand moved around Troy's hip and found the lace still caught at his thighs, pulling it aside without looking, and his fingers went directly where he wanted them. He pressed two inside Troy without preamble.
Troy's whole body arched.
He bit Dmitri's chest and left a mark.
Dmitri pressed deeper with his fingers, watching Troy shake against him, and he looked down at me over Troy's shoulder. His free hand extended with his fingers curling in a slow gesture that was neither a request nor a demand but something between the two.
I rose off my knees.
Troy turned his head without lifting his mouth from Dmitri's chest and found my mouth with his.
He kissed me messy and sideways and deep while Dmitri worked his fingers in a rhythm that was making Troy's knees unreliable.
I felt him shaking against my chest from the inside out, both Dmitri's hand and my proximity hitting him from different directions.
Troy pressed his face against Dmitri's shoulder. “Fuck. Dmitri, right there—”
“I know,” Dmitri said, unhurried, with his fingers working precisely. His eyes were still on me.
Troy's hand found my cock, wrapped around me and stroked once with his grip tight, and my breath left my body in a rush. He stroked again, slow and thorough, with his face still buried against Dmitri's neck while Dmitri kissed me over the top of his head with morning light flooding all of us.
Dmitri broke the kiss and spit onto Troy's hole around his own fingers. The sound Troy made at that was sharp and high and his grip on my cock went white-knuckled.
“He needs more,” Dmitri said to me with his fingers still moving. “You think he is ready?”
Troy lifted his head. His mouth was swollen and his eyes were glazed and the look he gave us both was the look of a man with absolutely nothing left to hide.
“If you make me ask,” he said, “I will never forgive either of you.”
I left them there.
I crossed the bedroom threshold, moved down the hall, and came back thirty seconds later with the lube still warm from the nightstand.
Both of them had barely moved. Troy was pressed against Dmitri's chest with Dmitri's fingers still buried inside him, Troy's forehead dropped to Dmitri's shoulder with his eyes closed and his breathing ragged.
Dmitri looked up when I reappeared in the doorway.
I tossed the lube. He caught it one-handed without looking, smooth and easy, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Good,” he said.
He pulled his fingers free. Troy made an involuntary sound of loss that was quickly replaced by something else when Dmitri sat back against the kitchen table with his thighs spread and looked up at him with patient dark eyes.
“Come here,” Dmitri said.
Troy moved over him and got his knees either side of Dmitri's thighs, bracing both hands on his shoulders while Dmitri slicked himself with a thoroughness that was entirely unhurried, watching Troy's face the whole time.
The lace was still intact and still clinging to the length of his legs, and from where I stood the picture they made together hit me behind the sternum as much as anywhere lower.
Dmitri lined himself up.
Troy sank down.
The sound that came out of him was long and open and his head dropped back and his hands gripped Dmitri's shoulders hard enough that I could see the whitening of his knuckles from across the room.
Dmitri's jaw was tight. Both hands gripped Troy's hips through the lace, steadying and holding and letting him take the pace he needed.
“Blyat,” Dmitri breathed, barely audible. “You are—”
“Don't,” Troy said, his voice fractured. “Don't talk. Just—”
He rolled his hips forward and found the angle. He made a sound that stripped the rest of the sentence away entirely.
I crossed the kitchen.
I came to stand in front of them both, close enough that Troy could reach me without moving, and his hand found my cock before I'd fully stopped.
He wrapped around me and stroked once with his fist in a grip that knew exactly what it was doing, then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the head.
The dual sensation of Troy's mouth on me and the visual of him seated fully on Dmitri below, the lace framing everything, the morning light brutal and honest across all three of us, was something I had absolutely no precedent for.
Troy took me deeper. His rhythm on Dmitri translated directly into the rhythm of his mouth on me, each roll of his hips drawing him forward and each lift pulling back, his whole body the connecting point between us.
Dmitri watched from behind his shoulder with heavy eyes, his hands running up Troy's spine and back down to grip the lace at his hips.
“Look at him,” Dmitri said quietly, directed at me specifically. “He takes everything.”
Troy made a muffled sound of agreement around my cock.
I put my hand in his hair without directing, just there and feeling the movement of him, the rhythm he'd built, the extraordinary reality of having Troy between my fingers in both senses simultaneously.
Dmitri leaned forward and pressed his lips to the back of Troy's neck. His eyes found mine over Troy's shoulder and he held the eye contact with a frankness that had nothing complicated in it, just acknowledgment, just two men sharing something extraordinary.
His hips started to move, rising to meet each of Troy's descents and adding counterpoint to the rhythm, and Troy lurched forward slightly at the change, taking me another inch deeper with a choked sound that was unmistakably and completely genuine.
“Mine,” I said quietly, just the one word aimed down at the top of Troy's head.
Dmitri heard it. His expression shifted fractionally into understanding the weight of that word between stepfather and stepson, and he said nothing. He just moved his hips and kept his eyes on mine.
Troy pulled back just far enough to breathe.
“Both of you,” he said, his voice wrecked and certain. “Right now. Don't stop.”
Dmitri looked up at me over Troy's shoulder.
I understood him immediately, the same way I'd understood every wordless communication between us since this morning started, like a language that didn't require learning, just willingness.
Troy's head turned toward me. His eyes were glassed and dark and absolutely certain. “I want to feel both of you,” he said. “I want—I need—”
“I know.” I pressed my lips to his temple. “I've got you.”