Ivy #2
Plague pulls back, wiping his glistening chin with the back of his hand even as he eyes the blood with mild wariness. His eyes are blown almost entirely black, his hair mussed and wild across his flushed bronze shoulders.
And he hasn't even been touched yet.
I feel something bumping against my ass and glance back over my shoulder, still catching my breath, and… well. I've seen Whiskey's cock before, obviously. Done more than seen it.
But now that they're both about to fuck me at the same time…
It's ridiculously thick.
Beer can thick.
"Whiskey."
"Yeah?"
"That is not a cock. That's a weapon."
He actually blushes as he lets out a low, sheepish chuckle. "A weapon of ass destruction?"
I grab a pillow and whack him with it over my head. He catches it, laughing.
Plague rolls his eyes, positioning himself first. He lines up in front of me, the head of his cock slicked and pressing against my entrance. His hands settle on my hips, steadying me.
"Slow," I tell them both. "For the love of fuck, slow."
Plague nods and pushes inside me.
My head falls back against Whiskey's collarbone and I grab Plague's forearms, nails digging in, my breath locked up and my toes curling.
"Oh—"
"Breathe," Plague murmurs, his forehead dropping to mine, his loose waves curtaining both our faces. His hips still when he's fully seated up to his knot, giving me time, and I feel his toned abdomen flex against me with the effort of holding back. "Tell me when."
Behind me, Whiskey's cock twitches against my ass, heavy and slick with lube, and I'm suddenly, viscerally fucking aware of what's about to happen.
"You with me?" Whiskey asks, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.
"Y-yeah." My voice comes out thready.
His slicked tip nudges against my rim, then breaches me, pressing in, and I'm so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except grab onto Plague's shoulders and dig my nails in hard enough to leave marks of my own on his bronze skin.
"Fuck—fuck—"
"Easy." Whiskey's palm splays across my lower abdomen, holding me steady against his chest. "Easy, wildcat. I'm barely in."
"Just the tip is the size of a fucking baseball," I choke out.
His chest shakes behind me with a stifled laugh. "That might actually be accurate."
"Not helping," Plague and I say in unison.
They wait, both of them, while my body decides whether it can do this. Then the searing edge dulls into a deep, insistent pressure I start to wrap around instead of fight.
"Okay," I breathe. "More."
Whiskey pushes the rest of the way and I feel it everywhere. In my spine, my thighs, the base of my skull. Plague groans, his hips twitching involuntarily.
I cry out.
His hands tighten on me and Plague captures my mouth, swallowing the sound, his tongue finding mine as his hips begin a slow, shallow roll. Whiskey pushes when Plague pushes, and the pressure and fullness force a broken moan out of me.
"I'm all the way in," Whiskey rumbles as I fall apart in his arms, my limbs going to noodles. "Good girl…"
Fuck, I love when he calls me that.
I grab Plague's hair with one hand and Whiskey's forearm with the other, holding on for dear life as they fuck me relentlessly, their knots bumping against my holes but not breaching just yet.
I don't know if I can take that.
"Wait," I manage to choke. "Wait, I need—"
Plague freezes mid-thrust, his hands locking on my hips. Behind me, Whiskey exhales hard through his nose but doesn't pull out, just stops moving, his forehead dropping against the back of my head.
"Too much?" Whiskey asks.
"Not too much." I try to think through the fullness and the heat radiating everywhere at once. "Just… maybe a different angle." I gesture vaguely, because words are a struggle. "Plague on his back. Me on top. You behind me."
It takes some creative maneuvering, which shouldn't be sexy but somehow it absolutely is. Plague lies back against the pillow fortress, and Whiskey eases out of me, making me hiss out through my teeth.
I crawl forward and sink back down onto Plague, bracing my palms flat on his chest as Whiskey's weight settles against my back, his padded stomach warm against my spine.
The reality of how much alpha is currently involved in this situation becomes suddenly very vivid now that I'm sandwiched between the two of them. Pinned, actually.
Plague reaches up and cups the side of my face, pulling my focus back.
"Look at me," he says quietly.
I do, just as Whiskey finds his angle and pushes into me again. I bury my face into Plague's neck with a whimper.
"Fuck," Whiskey gasps above me, his hands bracing against the headboard so he doesn't crush me between them.
Every thrust pushes me into the other, and back, and the pressure is unreal as their knots start to press at my holes again. They're swollen enough that if I don't take them now, I might not be able to at all.
"Do it," I manage.
Plague knots me first in a slow, burning press. I lock around him with a pop that makes me cry out.
"Ivy—" he growls, his entire body going rigid beneath me.
Whiskey's forehead drops against the back of my neck.
"My turn," he rasps.
"Slow," I beg.
"I know, wildcat."
He pushes and the pressure doubles.
I bury my face in Plague's throat, teeth clenched, whimpering. Whiskey's knot is fucking ridiculous, stretching me past what I thought my body could take, and for one horrible second I think it's not going to—
It locks.
I come so hard I don't even know what's happening right away. All I register is the feral sounds coming out of me and the sensation of two alphas filling me with hot pulses of come, purring and growling and snarling.
When I come back to myself, Plague's teeth are in my shoulder, our bond already blooming between us. I feel his control, his terror, and how desperately in love he is with us both despite trying and failing to hold the world and everyone in it at arm's length.
He releases me carefully, licking the wound closed with a soft pass of his tongue, and kisses me.
"I love you," he breathes against my mouth, the taste of my blood coppery on his lips.
"Can I call you Hamsa?" I whisper against his mouth, first.
"Yes," he whispers. "Yes, you can call me that."
"I love you, too, Hamsa."
His eyes flutter shut and he presses his forehead against mine as Whiskey's teeth clamp down on my shoulder.
There's nothing careful about this.
He bites me like I'm his, deep and claiming, a love so complete and sincere it has no idea what to do with itself but explode.
And deeper still, buried so far down I don't think even Whiskey knows it's there, the years of loving in silence, fearing he was malfunctioning.
It hurts. I'm not going to lie. But the warmth flooding through me takes it all away as soon as it surfaces.
"I've got you," he rumbles against my shoulder through his teeth, arms wrapping all the way around me from behind. "I've got you, wildcat. I love you. I love you so fucking much."
I go limp between them, boneless and buzzing, purring the same to him. I'm barely even in my body right now, thoroughly overwhelmed by their awareness of me, and mine of them.
And then I feel something else.
The two of them, aware of each other.
I remember watching Whiskey kiss Plague for the first time while I sat in my first hotel room nest with my heart hammering, knowing even then that what I was witnessing wasn't new.
It was just finally allowed.
I tip my head back against Whiskey's chest and look up at him, then at Plague.
"You should," I say, barely above a whisper.
Whiskey's eyes drop to Plague's throat.
Plague goes very still, his pale eyes wide.
"Yeah," Whiskey says roughly. "Yeah, we fuckin' should, huh?"
They don't ask me to move. I'm still locked between them, knotted and trembling, and they simply lean across me like I'm the bridge they've been circling for months.
Plague's hand comes up first. His fingers find the side of Whiskey's throat, pressing against the pulse hammering there. Whiskey's breath catches.
"If you make a joke right now," Plague whispers, "I swear to—"
"No jokes." Whiskey's voice cracks on the second word. His huge hand cradles the back of Plague's skull, fingers tangling in his dark waves. "Promise. Scout's honor."
They close the distance over my shoulder, mouths meeting in a careful, gentle kiss. The kiss of two alphas who've been running from the same door and finally stopped.
Plague tilts his head first, baring the left side of his throat.
Whiskey sinks his teeth into the curve where Plague's neck meets his shoulder.
Plague's entire body locks up beneath me. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks there, too, I'm sure, his back arching off the mattress, and the bond I feel through my mark on him whites out with terrified hope.
Whiskey releases him with a shuddering exhale, blood on his lips.
Plague's eyes are wet. I watch him blink once, twice, his jaw working.
He reaches for Whiskey's throat.
Whiskey tips his chin up without hesitation, lowering himself to Plague's mouth. Plague's bite is exactly where the mark will sit closest to the pulse. Any deeper and it might be a problem.
But he knows just where to bite.
Whiskey's arms tighten around both of us and his whole body rumbles with a deep, content purr as Plague licks the blood from his throat. Then looks mildly disturbed by the fact there's blood in his mouth.
Still the same alpha, marked or not.
"Hey," Whiskey murmurs suddenly, "now that we're all marked… can I call ya Hamsa too?"
"No," Plague says immediately, shoving his palm against Whiskey's face, but Whiskey just laughs into it, and through our fresh bonds I feel exactly how much Plague doesn't mean a single word of protest.
Whiskey catches Plague's wrist and kisses his palm instead, still grinning. Plague lets him, and then they're both holding me, burying their faces in my hair.
And for the first time, I feel the true form of what we are. Not separate people orbiting around the same center like most alphas orbiting their omega.
We are a constellation.