Epilogue #2
“I—” I close my mouth. Open it. “You could have said something. You could have texted. I was—” And here the honesty costs me something, I feel it going out. “I was sad. And I was freaking out. I thought it was just a fling.”
Silence. Not uncomfortable, exactly. More like both of them absorbing data.
Wyatt nods slowly, and his expression has shifted, less surprised than thoughtful, which is a look I haven’t seen him wear often and it suits him. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah, that tracks. We should have texted. That’s fair.” He looks at Jai.
“Completely fair,” Jai agrees.
“The thing is,” Wyatt continues, with the tone of a man arriving at a conclusion through careful reasoning, “you have a very high math intelligence. Like, genuinely impressive. Top tier.” He pauses.
“But your fucktelligence is still developing. We should have factored that in. Next time we’ll send the details. Keep you updated.”
“Or you could ask,” I say.
Wyatt frowns. “We did ask! I remember it. Like we said you were ours and you agreed.”
“That was a sex thing!”
“Okay, okay, this is our first time dating someone with low fucktelligence. Be patient with us. Maybe we need like a system or something. A spreadsheet. You like spreadsheets, right?”
Jai points at Wyatt. “That’s actually good. That’s a good system.”
I stare at the roof of the Range Rover. “I deeply regret the word fucktelligence. I want to formally register that.”
“Noted,” Jai says.
“But we’re keeping it,” Wyatt says. “It’s part of our identity. You’re a beautiful, sexy gay little cockslut, and we’re your supremely fucktelligent bisexual boyfriends.”
“I still don’t know if I’m bisexual,” Jai says. “I think I’m just horny for our little slut.”
Jai settles a hand on my waist again, his arm pulling me closer against his chest, and his lips press to my temple.
Not for show. Just warm. He works his fingers under the hem of my shorts again and resumes the slow, lazy circling, barely pressure, just presence, just: we’re here, you’re here, this is what here feels like.
Wyatt reaches over and puts his hand on my knee, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of it. His eyes find mine. “We’ve got you,” he says. Simple. No embellishment.
The knot unclenches entirely.
I’m crazy about them. Both of them, their noise and their bad ideas and their total incompetence at proactive communication and the way they are somehow, inexplicably, exactly what I needed without knowing I needed anything at all.
The love is specific and quiet and entirely mine, sitting in my chest where the panic was. I let it stay.
“Okay,” I say. “Fine. Where is this rental?”
“Just up ahead. In Princeton.”
The townhome is tall and narrow, crammed between two others on a quiet street about four blocks from the main campus drag, and I barely get to see the exterior before the garage door is rolling up and Wyatt is pulling the Range Rover inside.
The garage is small and dim and smells like fresh paint and the nothing-smell of a space that hasn’t had anyone’s life in it yet.
Wyatt cuts the engine. They both get out, and he gets to me first, his hands on my face, his mouth on mine, warm and unhurried. Jai slides out behind me and presses his lips to my temple, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
“Tour,” I say, when I can form words. “You promised a tour.”
“Absolutely.” Wyatt steps back and gestures at the garage with the gravity of a docent. “First stop: we determine whether the garage is fuckworthy.”
“That’s not a real category.”
“It’s a very real category.”
I don’t complain. Their dicks have rerouted enough of my brain that complaining feels like work.
Shirts go first, then shorts. Wyatt’s big hands are already working my t-shirt over my head before I’ve finished the thought, and Jai takes his own off in one motion, and the garage is warm and close and I am standing between two of the most physically devastating men I have ever seen in my life, which is still new enough to knock the breath out of me.
“Do you remember your safe word?” Jai asks. He says it the way a pilot runs through a checklist, routine, present.
“Sapphire.”
“You want to use it?”
“Absolutely not.”
Wyatt grins. His hands find my hips and lift me in one motion, setting me on the hood of the Range Rover like I weigh nothing, which I don’t, relative to him. The metal is warm from the drive, smooth and solid beneath my ass.
“Lie back,” he says.
Jai moves around me, his hands on my calves, pushing my knees apart.
He puts his mouth to the inside of my thigh and I close my eyes as his tongue drags toward my hole, and then I’m on my back on the hood of a Range Rover in a garage in Princeton, New Jersey, and Wyatt’s mouth is on my cock and Jai’s tongue is working my hole and the combination short-circuits something fundamental.
Wyatt sucks like he has nowhere else to be.
Long, slow pulls, his lips tight, his tongue running up the underside with the easy confidence of a man who’s learned exactly what wrecks me.
My cock is slick with pre-cum and spit, and the wet sounds of his mouth fill the small space of the garage.
Jai’s tongue circles my hole, teasing, then firmer, pushing against the ring of muscle, licking into me with an unhurried precision that turns my legs to water.
My thighs bracket his head and my hands find the back of Wyatt’s and there are sounds coming out of me that the neighbors are definitely hearing.
I cum on Wyatt’s tongue with Jai’s face buried in my ass, my cock pulsing hot and wet into Wyatt’s mouth while my hole clenches around nothing, and Wyatt swallows and keeps going, not letting me come down.
“On your feet,” Jai says.
They lift me off the hood and turn me, my front against the side of the SUV, the warm metal against my stomach and chest. Jai’s fingers are slick with lube.
When did he get lube? No idea. His shorts must have pockets.
This was premeditated. His fingers press against my hole, circling, then pushing in.
One finger, then two, and I’m still oversensitive from coming but my body opens for him greedily, the stretch familiar and wanted.
“Good hole,” Wyatt murmurs. His hand runs down my spine, thumb tracing the knobs of my vertebrae, and his cock presses against my ass cheek, hard, heavy. “Hungry for it already.”
Jai pulls his fingers out and Wyatt slots into position behind me.
His cock pushes against my hole, and the stretch is immediate and enormous: he’s so thick, filling me completely in long, deliberate inches, and my forehead drops against the car’s window.
He bottoms out and starts to fuck, not building slowly, just fucking, his hips setting a punishing pace, and the slap of skin on metal and skin fills the garage.
His cock drags across my prostate on every thrust and I’m already getting hard again, my cock smearing pre-cum against the door panel.
Wyatt cums in my ass with a groan that vibrates through his chest into my back, his cock pulsing deep, and pulls out.
Jai takes his place before I’ve processed the loss.
His cock is longer, the angle different, his thrusts slower and deeper, each one hitting something further in than Wyatt’s can reach, and a high, cracked, desperate sound punches out of me.
He fucks me with controlled, devastating precision, his hands gripping my hips, his cock filling me in long strokes that leave me breathless.
Then he pulls out without warning, and I whine at the loss, my hole clenching empty.
“Arms up,” Wyatt says.
His arms come under mine from behind, locking around my chest, and he lifts me off my feet.
My back is against his chest, my legs hanging, and Jai steps in front of me.
Wyatt notches his cock against my hole from below and drives up into me, the angle new, his cock thick and hard and hitting me from beneath, and I scream.
Wyatt shifts his grip to my hips, and Jai spreads my legs wide, my knees hooked over his forearms, opening me completely as he presses close.
His cock pushes against my hole alongside Wyatt’s. The pressure is everything, it’s too much, it’s the exact perfect too-much I’ve been craving since the ship. My hole burns, stretched beyond anything, and both of them go still and let me breathe, and then I groan: yes, and they begin to move.
They fuck me in tandem. Their cocks fill my hole completely, their bodies flanking mine, and I am held between them, pinned, used, incapable of movement except what they allow, and it’s the most whole I’ve felt in three days.
More than whole. Dissolved. Their voices are in my ears, low and filthy, Wyatt’s rumbling against my back and Jai’s closer, against my cheek.
“Look at this needy hole,” Jai says. “Can’t get enough of both of us. Stretched around us like a good little cocksleeve.”
“That’s all you are right now,” Wyatt says, breathless with effort. “Just a hole. Our hole. You feel that, Cade? Both of us in your tight little ass?”
I cum. My cock pulses untouched between us, cum hitting Jai’s stomach in hot stripes, and my hole clenches so tight around both their cocks that they both groan.
The orgasm rolls through me and doesn’t stop, another building before the first has peaked, and I’m sobbing, wrecked, my head back against Wyatt’s shoulder, my voice completely gone.
They don’t stop. My hole is theirs and they use it, their cocks working through my clenching orgasm, their hands holding me exactly where they need me.
I cum again, thinner this time, barely anything, a full-body shudder that leaves me limp and covered in my own cum and still filled with both of them, and the sounds coming from my mouth are not language.
They cum close together: Wyatt first, his cock flooding my ass with heat, then Jai seconds after, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing deep. The warmth of both of them filling me pulls one last broken sound from my throat.