36. Epilogue One
Epilogue One
Noel
Three months later
T en days after Branson’s accident, we returned to the hotel and celebrated Christmas - just the three of us and the cats. Branson was given strict instructions to rest for at least another six weeks, after which time we were given the go ahead by his doctor to travel. Those weeks had been hard for him. Milo and I were so concerned about hurting him that sex had been off the table and to make it fair, that meant it was also off the table for us. Initially, we’d said all sexual acts, but Branson was adamant that we at least celebrate New Year’s with him giving us handjobs and like the pushover I had always been when it came to them, I couldn’t say no.
Branson was usually so full of energy. He liked to get out, play rugby, visit the shops, and walk through the park, but for those few weeks, we followed the doctor's orders, keeping him safely in bed, feet up and resting. He muttered about it constantly and though our boyfriend loved to be pampered, he had met his limit by the time the doctor came over and gave him the all clear.
At the end of January, Milo had said goodbye to his colleagues, and just before Valentine’s Day, we’d packed our bags and flown to the UK to start the next chapter of our lives together. During Branson’s recovery, I'd popped back once to check in with my parents - my dad was doing as well as could be expected. The medications and his new diet were helping but still, I hadn’t wanted to wait much longer before heading back.
We were living in a picturesque bungalow in the Surrey Hills, which belonged to my family. We’d buy something of our own one day, but for now, this was perfect. We had a garden, four bedrooms, and an extended patio with a barbeque area and a hammock hanging between two trees, though it was not the weather for enjoying the outside area just yet. The cats had arrived a few weeks after we did and were now settled in, Mia’s cat also living with us as she was currently in a Central London house share that didn’t allow pets. She wasn’t able to start her English degree just yet with it being mid-year but she was due to start her course in the Autumn. For now, she was working in a lively bar in south west London where she’d made loads of new friends and most importantly, she was happy - beyond happy.
It was good being close to my parents again, and my mum had whispered to me one evening that she thought that my more regular presence had given my dad a boost. I knew better than to believe I could affect him that profoundly, but even so, he was happy to have me home. We saw them at least once a week and while he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the two boyfriends part, he was welcoming to both Branson and Milo. Milo and he had even bonded over a love of art after Milo had commented on a piece hanging in the dining hall of my childhood home. Where I saw an ugly painting, Milo saw a masterpiece and my father agreed.
By the time I pulled into our long driveway and saw the lights on in our house, I was exhausted. The week had been long and I was looking forward to getting home, ready to celebrate the closing of the deal on the place in Dallas. It had been painstaking and had nearly fallen through countless times, but as of four that afternoon, it was a done deal, the owner's daughter having encouraged him to take the money I offered and move closer to her in Florida.
Climbing from my warm car, I shivered in the cold night air before making my way to our front door. March had always been my least favourite time of the year, especially in the UK. It was cold, and wet and the clouds hung like a permanent feature in the sky. But for the first time in many years, I found that I actually didn’t mind the cold, damp days, not when I came home every night to a house full of warmth.
As I pushed open the door to our home, I was greeted by a blast of hot air and the smell of burning and swearing coming from the kitchen. Juliet and Lena both scurried out the front door in an effort to escape the chaos coming from deeper in the house.
“Milo? Branson?” I yelled out, removing my coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. No one responded as I kicked off my shoes, so I followed the smell and the sound of pots banging until I was standing inside our country chic kitchen. Branson was leaning over the sink, the tap on and steam billowing from a pot he held under the running water. Milo was at the bin, depositing something black and charred into it.
“What’s going on in here?” I asked, moving through the kitchen to stand behind Branson, pressing my cold lips to the nape of his neck. He shivered and leaned back subtly into my hold. He smelled like summer, with a hint of orange underneath the smell of burnt meat.
“I was trying to make a pot roast and instead I created a pot of ash.” He turned off the water, then spun around in my arms, linking his around my neck and leaning up to press our lips together. “I miss Emile. And takeout,” he sighed.
My lips tipped up as I kissed him again. “It was your suggestion that we start cooking ‘proper meals’,” I exaggerated the last two words, “and not eating out or ordering in as much. And anyway, most of the meals we’ve had this week have been really good.”
Long lines appeared on his brow as he looked at me. That was a lie. Apart from the beans on toast and salmon he’d baked, and the burgers Milo had thrown together, most of the things he had attempted had been disasters.
“I just wanted us to have dinner together every night, sitting around plates of creamy pasta, thick stews and delicious roasts. Not the student meals I’d been living on until we got together. And not takeout. Did I mention that I miss Emile?”
Milo chuckled from behind me, and moments later his arms came around us both, sandwiching me between the two of them. “Careful, Bran, don’t want your boyfriends thinking you’re pining after another man,” Milo joked and Branson laughed in response.
“Not another man, just his cooking skills.”
“You know,” I started. “I could have someone come and teach you, if you’d like?” Between the three of us, we had all the skills to cook perfectly good simple meals, but Branson had this wish to go above and beyond and for that he would need someone to impart that knowledge to him.
“Okay, let’s do that. Milo and I can learn together. I’ll add it to my list of ‘skills to learn’.” I suppressed a chuckle at the seriousness on his face and the mention of yet another of his lists that he never wrote down but seemed to actually be keeping track of.
“But for tonight, I’m ordering pizza,” Branson stated. “First though, I need to change.” He looked down at the Henley he was wearing that was splattered with food and water.
“Go.” I spun him around and playfully pushed him towards the door. “I’ll clean up here.” Once he’d left, I turned to Milo, who grinned at me with deep brown eyes and a sweet honey smile.
“How was work?” he asked as I walked him backwards until his back hit the refrigerator. He tipped his neck to the side, exposing a long taut tendon and smooth skin. I pressed my nose to it, breathing in his peppery scent, then baring my teeth, I nibbled at the pebbling flesh before answering him, my lips still pressed to his skin. “Good. Long. Very glad I’m home now.”
His hand skated down my shirt, until he was at the waistband of my trousers. His eyes glinted with mischief as he undid the button and pulled down the zip, reaching in and beneath my boxers to grip my hardening cock. His free hand moved to grip my throat, holding me in position so we were eye to eye. “You feel very happy to be home.” Using his grip on my neck, he pulled me forward, his lips meeting mine in a hungry embrace and I rutted my hips against his hand, groaning at the friction.
“So fucking happy,” I moaned into his mouth as he removed his hands and I felt his arousal press against my thigh. Milo pulled my shirt up, then slid his hands along my ribs, and down my back until they were resting on the globes of my ass. He gripped me tightly and pulled me towards him so that our cocks - still covered in far too many layers - were pressed together. We kissed and rutted and moaned until my head was spinning with lack of oxygen and undeniable levels of desire.
Milo pulled away, breathless and panting, then looked over my shoulder, his lips quirking up on one side as he spoke. “Dinner may be ruined, but dessert is looking fucking fine.” I turned my head, following his heated gaze to the entrance of the kitchen, to where Branson stood dressed in one of my work shirts, each button done up except for the top two. He wore nothing else save for a sexy smirk and bright, shining blue eyes.
He played with a button as he spoke. “I’d planned to suggest we watch a movie, but it seems the two of you started something else while I was gone.” He undid two buttons of the shirt while taking a step towards us, and I turned around fully so my back was to Milo. “And I was keeping this for later but now I’m feeling far too impatient.” Branson took two more steps forward as he undid more buttons and, as the fabric parted, we were treated to a glance of bright purple fabric. Behind me, Milo gripped my hip, rubbing his hard erection into my ass as he watched over my shoulder as Branson undid the final button, allowing the shirt to fall open.
"Fuck, babe, you are so bloody pretty,” Milo growled, as he toyed his fingers through the hair beneath my navel. I was hard and dripping and so fucking hungry for them. Milo with his hands all over me and his intoxicating scent and Branson, a sinful vision of smooth pale skin in tiny purple lace panties and my shirt. The animal part of me that revelled in his scent and his taste stirred at the idea of him in my clothing.
Stepping out of Milo’s hold, I stalked over to Branson. A predator to its prey and stopped a foot in front of him, taking in every inch of his bare skin, his flushed cheeks and the hard cock pressing against the lace. “Beautiful. So, so beautiful.” His eyes closed momentarily, his eyelids fluttering in response to the praise. I loved that I had this effect on him with just my words.
Closing the gap between us, I scooped him up, then crashed my lips to his, biting and sucking the tender flesh as I carried him to the counter. With one arm, I swiped everything off it, then placed Branson on the wooden surface. Milo came up behind me, his stealthy fingers making quick work of stripping me of my shirt. Branson fell back on his elbows, his hooded eyes watching Milo undress me.
Once my shirt was off, I made quick work of removing the rest of my clothing until I was completely naked, towering over Branson’s form. I leaned in, nuzzling my nose against his sweet skin and licked a stripe from his collarbone to just beneath his ear. Then I took the lobe in my mouth and bit it, tugging gently, getting rougher with every whimper he made until his hands were clawing at my chest, one hand twisting at the barbell until the pain in morphed into heat - pure blissful heat. “Touch me, please, daddy. Need you.” Branson’s pleas were music to my ears and I slid my hand down his stomach and over the soft fabric until I was gripping his hard cock.
From behind me, I heard the opening and closing of the fridge door and moments later, Milo was next to me, topless but still wearing a pair of black boxers. In his hand he held a bottle of lube and a tin of spraying cream. For Milo, food and sex went hand in hand, and he often found a way to cover us in champagne, beer, chocolate and even once, caramel sauce.
Flipping the cap off the cream, he squirted it over Branson’s chest, creating large swirls over Branson’s nipples. Branson whimpered, squirming away in response to the cold hitting his overheated flesh. I took the canister from Milo with one hand, and with the other, I pulled the fabric of Branson’s panties to the side, releasing his hard cock. It was such a pretty flushed pink resting in a nest of blonde hair. Tipping the canister, my finger pressing down on the trigger, I created a line of foamy white cream from his navel, down and over his cock, being sure to cover his balls too.
Milo dived in, licking up the sweet substance from Branson’s skin, lapping at his nipples and rubbing his scruff over the cream covered skin. Following the line of cream, I lapped it up, bypassing his dick and sucking his balls clean. He keened under the attention, whimpers and pleas falling from his mouth as his body was overwhelmed with sensation. “More, more, more.”
The cream dripped down Branson’s taint, covering the lace and onto the counter and I could feel it coating my lips as I bent down and sucked his cock into my mouth. He was sweet with a salty undercurrent and the taste was intoxicating. He bucked his hips, impatient for more friction, more pressure. So, I gave it to him, sucking him deep into the back of my throat, adding a hand and twisting up and down his shaft. Milo didn’t let up, sucking and nibbling at his nipples. Branson cried out, “Yes, daddy!” as hot squirts of thick, salty cum hit the back of my throat, mixing with the sweetness of the cream. I swallowed every drop he gave me, then licked around the head, popped off and stood straight, fixing the lace panties back into place.
Milo straightened next to me and we took a moment to survey the beauty that was our serenely blissed out boyfriend, still dressed in my shirt. I raked my gaze down his chest, blotchy with rosy patches and marks from where Milo’s scruff had scratched against him, his skin shining where we'd licked and sucked at it. Then over to his ribs and to the tattoo he now had running along them on one side. Three interlaced hearts. It had been the last tattoo Milo had done before leaving the States.
Milo turned towards me, flicking his tongue in a long stripe up my lips then dove in for a kiss. He took control, pressing his tongue to the seam of my lips and I opened for him, letting him devour me as though I were his next course. “Let’s share this pretty dessert,” he suggested, and I felt his grin before he stepped back, pulled off his boxers and uncapped the bottle of lube.
With his gaze locked onto Branson, Milo coated his fingers and stepped closer. I came up beside them and lifted Branson’s leg, pushing it up until he gripped the back of his knee, lifted the other and held himself open to us. “So perfect, kitten,” I purred while Milo pulled the thong strap to one side, then slid in one finger and then a second, making Branson’s spent dick twitch beneath its fabric confines.
With Branson flat on his back on the kitchen counter, his knees held against his chest, Milo lined up his hard cock and pushed at his entrance, jerking his hips and sinking all the way in, groaning as his cock disappeared into Branson’s tight channel. As Milo fucked him, slowly at first, with shallow movements, then picking up his pace to firm steady thrusts, I ran my hands along Branson’s stomach and over his legs, enjoying the feel of his thin hair against my palms. Moving behind Milo, I did the same to him, mapping the planes of his muscles, which bunched as he moved inside Branson, then over the globes of his ass and around to his other side. He sucked in a breath when my fingers found his nipple, twisting and eliciting the hottest groan as I pinched then released it, repeating the movement two more times.
Branson moaned as Milo pressed him further up the kitchen counter, then grabbed his legs and slammed into him, and I took up position, bending over to press my lips to Branson’s, eating every moan and whimper that left his lips. “Please touch me,” he whispered into my mouth and I slid my hand into the fabric of his panties, gripping his cock, which was once again hard. With my lips telling passionate stories against his, and my hand working him over, I ignored the ache in my own dick, focusing on bringing him over the edge.
Milo stilled, grounding out a deep, lusty fuck as he pulled out and coated Branson’s lace covered dick and my hand in his cum. The sounds they both made were so heady and delicious, I was sure I was about to explode just listening to them. Milo pulled out, stepping to the side and resting one hand on the counter and the other on Branson's thigh, his head facing to where I now stood - I knew he liked to watch me bury myself in our boyfriend.
Moving quickly, I swiped up Milo's cum and rubbed it on my own cock, delighting in the slide of it over my shaft. The thong part of Branson's panties had moved to cover his entrance and I twisted them in one hand before positioning myself, then thrusting into his stretched hole. He wrapped his legs around me as I pressed in, pulling out to just the tip, then snapping my hips and back into his tight heat. “Such a good boy. Are you going to come again for me?” Branson nodded, his hand moving beneath the fabric to jerk himself. He cried out as he came, jets of semen seeping through the purple fabric of his panties.
Pleasure buzzed up my spine and through my limbs, making my knees shake and my body burn from the inside. I had been riding this wave for so long - watching them, tasting them, breathing in the scent of them - and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I came, cum exploding from me in scorching waves. Taking a huge lungful of air, I fell forward and rested my head against Branson’s sticky chest.
Milo’s hand brushing along my back and the press of his lips against my shoulder had me sighing, contentment replacing the arousal that had shot through my body.
Later that night, we lay huddled together in our huge bed, me in the middle with Milo’s head resting on one thigh. Branson was on the other side and my soft cock was resting warmly in his mouth, his lips and tongue moving slightly against it as he drifted to sleep. I ran my hands through their hair, both damp from our shower and scraped my nails against their scalps, listening as Milo hummed in response. Nothing could ever come close to this feeling. Pure, unwavering love.
This was all I needed. These two men that I called mine.