Chapter 7
After ten days of sharing their bed, my body knows the heat of Wyatt’s shoulder pressed to my back and the way Jai’s breathing goes shallow when he’s almost awake.
I ease myself down the bed, careful, onto my stomach between their sprawled bodies.
Neither stirs. Wyatt is on his back, one arm above his head, his chest rising and falling in the slow cadence of deep sleep.
Jai is on his side facing me, his mouth slightly open, his hair doing that unfair thing it does in humidity where it falls perfectly even when he hasn’t touched it.
My cock is already half-hard against the sheet.
It always is, now. That’s what ten days does.
Ten days of waking up between them and knowing exactly what the morning is for.
I press my lips to Wyatt’s stomach, just above his navel.
His skin is warm, faintly salt-rough with dried sweat, and his abs flex at the contact even in sleep.
I do it again, lower, trailing down toward the dark line of hair that points south, and his cock shifts against his thigh, not fully hard yet, just stirring, blood beginning to move.
I watch it happen. The slow, incremental thickening.
The head pushing against his skin, flushing pink. I wait.
Then Jai. I press my mouth to the lowest point of his stomach, his hip, the inner curve of his hip bone, and his breath changes rhythm.
I kiss the warm skin there, then lower, to the inside of his thigh, the muscle thick and dense beneath my lips, and drag my tongue along the crease where his thigh meets his body, close enough to his cock that heat radiates from it, but not touching.
His cock is half-hard, the foreskin still mostly forward, the head hidden and waiting.
I go back to Wyatt’s thighs. God, his thighs.
The muscle is packed and heavy under my mouth, tan from days in the pool, and I nuzzle into the inside of them, kissing my way toward his cock and then pulling away, teasing.
A low sound escapes him in his sleep, a hum that vibrates through the mattress.
His cock is fully hard now, thick and pink and pointing at his stomach, pre-cum beading at the slit. I watch one drop form and slide.
“Cade.” Wyatt’s voice is sleep-thick, ragged at the edges.
I look up. His blue eyes are open, heavy-lidded, and the dimples haven’t fully arrived yet, just the beginning of them, the soft press in his cheeks, the slow unfurl of his smile.
He looks at me the way he’s been looking at me for days, like I’m something he’s still slightly amazed to find in his bed. “Morning, math boy.”
I lean in and take the head of his cock between my lips.
A groan rolls out of him, low and helpless.
He threads his hand into my hair the way he always does, holding me where he needs me.
The taste of him floods my tongue, salt and skin and the bitter edge of pre-cum, all of it familiar now, all of it his.
I suck slowly, my tongue working the underside, tracing the vein he likes me to follow, and his hips shift under me, barely a movement, more like a sigh.
“Hey.” Jai’s voice is lower, more deliberate. He’s awake, dark eyes tracking the motion of my mouth on Wyatt’s cock with the focused attention of someone who has never once been satisfied with waiting his turn. “I’m right here, Cade. You going to ignore me all morning?”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
I pull off Wyatt, spit-slick and flushed, and turn.
Jai’s cock is fully hard and already glistening, the foreskin retracted just enough that the head is visible, smooth and dark and wet.
I take him in one long motion, swallowing down his shaft until the head hits the back of my throat, and his breath punches out of him.
“There it is,” he says. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s the good shit.”
I pull back, work the foreskin with my tongue the way he loves, slide my lips down again. His hand lands on the back of my head, fingers curling into my hair. From the other side of the bed Wyatt laughs, low and warm, and his cock brushes my cheek as he shifts closer.
I wrap a hand around each of them. Draw them together, side by side, and press my mouth to the place where their cocks meet, both heads against my lips, the heat radiating off both of them, and I try to take them both.
My mouth stretches, straining, just barely wide enough for the heads of both of them, and the obscene stretch of my jaw is too good to stop.
I moan against them, the vibration making Wyatt swear under his breath and Jai grip my hair tighter.
“Look at this greedy little slut,” Wyatt says, and his voice is warm with it, the word landing different now than it did on the first day, not like an accusation, like praise. “Can’t get enough of us. Can’t even wait till we’re awake.”
“You were awake enough,” I say, pulling back, my chin wet, and turn to work Wyatt with my mouth and Jai with my hand, stroking him exactly the way he likes: tight grip, slow pull, thumb working under the foreskin on the upstroke.
Then switch, sucking Jai deep while my fist works Wyatt’s base with the firm, twisting pressure that makes him go absolutely still for three seconds before he groans.
My cock grinds against the mattress with each movement.
The friction is just enough, just sharp enough, a low current running under everything I’m doing.
Their hands are in my hair. Wyatt’s palm rests on my cheek, his thumb tracing my jaw while his cock slides between my lips, and the tenderness of that touch while I’m sucking him, that’s the thing that undoes me, every time. The tenderness.
“Our boy,” Jai murmurs. Not to me, to Wyatt. Like I’m not supposed to hear it. Like he forgot, for one moment, to be cool. “Look at him. Ten days and he just gets better.”
I tilt my head. I know what I’m doing. I take Jai’s cock to the back of my throat and keep going, past the resistance, past the reflex, and let him slide in.
My throat opens around him, the stretch enormous and burning, and the moan that comes out of me vibrates through his shaft, and Jai’s hips jolt off the mattress.
“Fuck—Cade—”
My eyes are streaming. Tears from the reflex, pure physical response, and I don’t wipe them.
I hold there, his cock buried in my throat, breathing through my nose in shallow pulls, and the headspace drops like a stone.
Down and down and down, that floaty untethered place where thinking stops and there’s just the weight of him, the impossible fullness in my throat, and the sound of his voice breaking over my name.
My hips are rocking, humping air, and Wyatt reaches out and strokes me, giving me something to grind against.
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt says. “He’s deep-throating you.”
Jai’s hand is in my hair, his hips moving in tiny shallow thrusts, fucking into my throat in careful strokes, and the praise that comes out of him is filthy and tender in equal measure. “Such a good boy. Our perfect little slut. Look at you, Cade. Look at you taking everything.”
He cums. His cock pulses in my throat, once, twice, and then I pull back enough that the cum floods my mouth, hot, thick, the taste sharper than Wyatt’s, and I swallow, and swallow, and Jai’s hand tightens in my hair as the orgasm rolls through him.
My own orgasm is right there, an inch from the edge, and Jai knows it.
His hand wraps around my cock while I’m still shaking, while I’m still swallowing him down, and strokes me twice, three times, and I cum against the sheets, my cock pulsing, my whole body shuddering, a broken moan leaking out around the last of Jai’s cock in my mouth.
Wyatt’s thigh presses against my cheek. He hasn’t come yet. I turn to him, throat raw and aching, and his hands cup my face with both palms, and he looks at me for one long second, his blue eyes dark, and then his cock slides past my lips and he starts to move.
He throat-fucks me slow, then faster, his hips rocking forward in steady strokes, his cock filling my throat on every push, and I let him.
I give him everything, my hands flat on his thighs, my head tilted up, my throat working around his thickness.
My eyes are wet. My jaw is destroyed. I have never been more comfortable in my life.
He cums in my throat, deep enough that I don’t taste it, just the heat of it pouring directly into me, and his groan is the last sound I register clearly before I go loose and warm and stop existing for a minute.
I lie between them after, loose and stripped to nothing, my throat aching, cum drying on the sheets beneath me and my body emptied of everything except the quiet that only exists here, in this room, between these two men.
My brain starts up eventually. It always does.
But slower now, kinder, the usual static replaced by something almost manageable.
I think about school. The math department, the clean logic of it, the way a proof either holds or it doesn’t, no ambiguity, no subtext.
I think about going back to the dorms in September, throwing myself into coursework, coming home late and wrecked and good-tired.
I think about having somewhere to go after.
Someone. Two someones, warm and loud and taking up every available inch of space, their bodies pressed against mine in the dark, their voices going quiet only when I needed them to.
The image settles in my chest like something wanted and then I catch myself wanting it and pull back fast, the old reflex, the same one I’ve practiced my whole life.
Don’t ask for more than you’re given. Don’t make yourself a problem.
The light through the curtains has changed. Different quality. More gold than Bahamas blue.
I sit up. Through the gap in the curtains, through the sliding glass door of the balcony, the skyline is wrong. The water is wrong. There are buildings.
Miami.