Ivy
Whiskey has somehow managed to turn the entire bed into a nest while Plague and I were at the planetarium.
Not an omega kind of nest.
A Whiskey nest.
Which means every pillow in the room has been arranged into a fortress shape, the duvet pulled halfway off the bed and secured to the chandelier with what I think is one of Plague's hair ties to form a canopy.
And Whiskey apparently raided the room service cart, because there are enough extra towels rolled into cylinders to form actual walls.
The mini-fridge is wide open and the takeout Plague brought for Whiskey is already gone. He goes over and silently closes it.
"Welcome back," Whiskey says, materializing from the bathroom with his hair soaking wet and his silk bathrobe clinging to his broad shoulders.
Plague jumps out of his skin and the bickering about scaring him again begins.
I'm already laughing as I kick off my boots and shrug out of Plague's coat, hanging it up on the rack by the door.
These are my alphas.
These absolute disasters are mine.
Plague closes the door and locks it, muttering as he removes his driving gloves finger by finger and places them beside the keys on the desk.
"How was the star thing?" Whiskey asks me.
"Amazing," I say, grinning at him. "Plague watched me instead of the show."
"Called it."
"I watched some of it," Plague mutters, removing his turtleneck slowly. He's stalling.
Whiskey catches my eye and mouths no he didn't.
I snort.
The energy in the room shifts as Plague hangs his turtleneck in the closet and turns back slowly to face us.
In the lamplight, the scar over his heart shines like mother of pearl, and I try not to look twice at it, knowing what happened to put it there.
He stands there in just his dark trousers, his waves loose past his shoulders, and meets my eyes.
"So," he says.
"So," I echo.
Whiskey drops onto the bed, making the entire fortress of pillows bounce. "We doin' this?"
"Eloquent as always," Plague says.
"I'm setting the mood, bro."
"By crashing into the bed like a wrecking ball?"
Whiskey shoots him a shit-eating grin. "It worked on you last time."
Plague's ears go red again. Seems they've been doing that a lot tonight.
I climb onto the mattress and crawl toward the center of Whiskey's ridiculous nest, settling back against the pillow fortress. The duvet canopy billows above us.
Whiskey's already climbing toward me. "Who's gonna be first to mark you, wildcat? You still want that tonight, right?"
I nod, grinning again. "You can always fight for it if you want."
Whiskey barks out a booming, gleeful laugh and Plague rolls his eyes, kneeling at the edge of the bed. He's being aloof again.
That's okay. I'm good at handling aloof alphas.
"Come here," I tell him.
He shifts on the bed and moves closer, settling beside me, his body close but not touching. His light eyes search mine, asking permission even now.
I pull my sweater over my head and watch his pupils blow in real time, taking in the sight.
"Kiss me first," I whisper.
One hand cups my jaw, gentle and careful, as he leans in and brushes his lips against mine. He tastes like tea, minty and warm, and I sink into it, pulling him closer by the back of his neck.
Whiskey settles behind me. His massive chest presses against my bare back, and the difference in size between the three of us hits me all over again. Plague is lean and elegant against my front. Whiskey is a fucking wall behind me, a warm, padded wall I sink into as his arms surround me.
I feel perfectly safe.
Plague's mouth travels from my lips to my jaw, down the column of my neck. His hand finds my waist, fingers spanning most of it. He's trembling slightly.
"Hey," I murmur, catching his face. "It's just me."
"I know." His voice is barely a whisper. "That's why I'm nervous."
I pull Plague's mouth back to mine.
He melts into it this time, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as my fingers card through his loose waves. Behind me, Whiskey's hands slide down my bare sides, thumbs running along my ribs beneath my curves, and I shiver between them.
"Okay," Whiskey rumbles against my ear. "Who's actually first?"
"I already said you can fight for it."
"Bet." Whiskey reaches over my shoulder and flicks Plague's ear.
Plague pulls back from kissing me with a murderous expression. "Did you just—"
"Oops! My hand slipped."
Plague lunges.
I barely have time to roll out of the way before Plague tackles Whiskey across the pillow fortress, sending towel-rolls flying. The duvet canopy snaps free from the chandelier and billows down over all three of us like a parachute.
"Fuck—" I'm tangled in sheets and laughing so hard I can't breathe.
Somewhere under the duvet, I hear scuffling. A grunt. Whiskey's booming laugh and Plague's snarling.
"I will end you," Plague hisses.
"You say that every time and yet here I am, bro. Alive and thriving."
I fight my way out of the duvet and find them wrestling on the bed like stray tomcats.
Plague has Whiskey pinned by the throat, or is trying to, at least, but Whiskey's neck is so thick Plague's elegant fingers can barely get purchase.
Whiskey just lies there with his arms folded behind his head, grinning up at Plague like he's getting a massage.
Somehow, he lost his robe in the scuffle.
"You done?" Whiskey asks him, his voice strained from being unsuccessfully choked.
Plague's eye twitches.
"Because if you're done, I was gonna suggest we let Ivy decide."
Both alphas look at me.
I'm sitting cross-legged on the wrecked bed, bare from the waist up, hair a mess, grinning like an absolute lunatic.
"Plague first," I say.
Whiskey clutches his chest. "Wildcat. Betrayed!"
"His mouth is smaller," I say simply. "If Plague marks first, it'll leave less damage for your bite to worry about. I'm sure you bite like a fucking alligator."
Whiskey opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. His eyebrows climb. "Huh. That's… actually smart. And I do have a big mouth. Ask Plague how he knows."
"Don't you dare," Plague hisses, trying to smother him with a pillow now as Whiskey shoves against him and laughs.
But the fight's over, and Plague comes to kneel in front of me, his hand finding my bare shoulder, tracing the silver arcs of Thane's mark. The skin there is already tougher and less sensitive, layered with scar tissue old and new.
"Here?" he asks quietly.
"Here."
Whiskey moves behind me again, his broad chest pressing warm against my spine. He gathers my hair and sweeps it over my opposite shoulder, baring the mark completely.
His lips brush the shell of my ear. "I've got you, wildcat."
I exhale and tilt my head, exposing the column of my throat and the slope of my shoulder.
Plague's hand slides down from my shoulder to my waist, and he leans in.
The kiss is different this time. Deeper. His teeth catch my lower lip and I gasp into his mouth, arching forward. Behind me, Whiskey's hands tighten on my hips, steadying me between them.
"Lie back," Plague murmurs against my mouth.
Whiskey shifts, pulling me against his chest as he leans back into the pillow fortress. His strong thighs bracket my hips from behind, propping me up at the perfect angle.
Plague strips my jeans off, his touch lingering on my thighs. His trousers follow, and then he's settling between my legs, lean and golden in the lamplight.
His mouth finds the mark on my shoulder first, learning the terrain Thane left behind. Then lower, dragging across my collarbone, the hollow of my throat, the space between my breasts where my heartbeat hammers hard enough I'm sure he can feel it against his lips.
Plague doesn't speak. He just keeps moving down, his loose dark waves spilling across my stomach. His hands hook under my thighs and spread them wider, settling my legs over his shoulders.
The first press of his mouth between my legs makes me gasp and squirm, instantly soaking wet. His slow, deliberate tongue strokes find every nerve ending like they're lit up for him.
"Fuck," I choke, my hips jerking as his tongue flattens and drags up through my lips.
Whiskey catches me and holds me still, pinning me back against his body with almost no effort.
"Easy," he rumbles. "Let him work."
Plague hums against me and the vibration shoots straight up my spine. My head falls back against Whiskey's collarbone and I grab two fistfuls of the ruined duvet, trying to anchor myself while Plague takes me apart with his mouth.
Behind me, Whiskey shifts. I hear the soft click of a cap.
"Hey, wildcat," he says against my ear. "I brought something."
I crack one eye open, panting. "What…"
"Extra lube." He holds up a small bottle. "You're wet as fuck and omegas make their own, I know. But I'm..." He clears his throat. "My dick is thick as fuck, Ivy. I don't wanna hurt you."
I let out a breathless laugh that breaks into a moan as Plague sucks my clit between his lips. "How—ah—how considerate."
"I'm a gentleman."
His slicked fingers trail down between my cheeks, and the first touch makes me tense. He stops instantly.
"Tell me if you want me to stop." Not a hint of joking in it.
"Don't stop."
Whiskey works me open with one finger, then another, easing deeper only when my body stops fighting him, pausing every time I clench, adding lube every few seconds without being asked. His breathing stays controlled against my ear.
This is the Marine beneath the golden retriever.
Plague's mouth returns to find the spot that almost makes me levitate off the bed. A full-throated scream tears out of me.
Whiskey muffles it before I can get us all thrown out of this fancy fucking hotel, pressing his huge palm over my mouth. I chomp on him. He hisses but doesn't move his hand, and I come so hard my entire body locks up, clamping down on both of them.
"Sorry," I manage to croak when I see Whiskey's palm bleeding. I lick it instinctively. "I, um, guess I'm not the only one getting marked tonight?"
"Holy fuck," Whiskey breathes against my ear.
Sounds like he loves it.