( a pleasant feeling, too, marcus's hands between her lightweight chemise and the loosening boning of her stays—her hair coming undone, too, uncoiling from its pinned twists so spill down over his hand and to her shoulders. there are still her skirts, too, and petticoats, and she finds herself laughing, again: )
You might make yourself further useful, there looking so pleased with yourself, ( a little dry. he is much easier to undress than either marcus or petrana, and he at least has more than enough practise with both her clothes and the sort marcus favours so there's no call for him to rest on his naked laurels.
as much as she has yet to tire of seeing him, undressed. she is impatient to better acquaint herself with marcus, too, but they have time—will have time—it is not a race.
she makes a sound that might have been an oath from another woman when her impatience pulls a lace tight instead of undone. not a race. )
[ Petrana will miss out, in this current configuration, but Julius from his vantage point will be able to notice the twinge of amusement subtle in Marcus' expression. It will be satisfying to drive them both to a point where even their witty banter falls to the wayside.
Not that he is complaining that it persists. He finds a hook at the back of her chemise up near the nape of her neck, and this he undoes along with the delicate buttons that hold it closed, although as long as the stays are still causing her grief, the most he can do is push the fabric down off one of her shoulders.
And also sweep her now loose her back, and smooth his hand down the curve of throat and shoulder, and then dip low beneath her neckline as his other hand blindly tugs at lacing that cinches her skirt—
—it's not a race.
But there is a subtle sound from him of confusion and impatience both when that tug does not seem to do what he thinks it will, and he leans back to try to see what he's doing. Why are there so many layers. Why are they fastened in this manner. ]
[The momentary impulse to watch Marcus try to work it out is present, but brief. Instead, Julius takes Petrana's instruction and moves to help. Practice means he could make quick work of even her layers if he'd wanted, but instead he takes his time. It suits the moment and, not incidentally, gives Marcus a chance to observe when Julius tugs a different lace, releasing tension in the fabric the other man had accidentally pulled taut.
It is, after all, not a race.
He takes the moment, though, to press a kiss to Petrana's bare shoulder. And he does not observe that his much-criticized choice of wardrobe has some practical advantages, which is its own act of affection under the circumstances.]
( it is not unpleasant, finding herself between two pairs of busy hands—even if the sound she'd made upon a lace pulling tighter had been breathless for a different reason entirely. it comes out in another laugh, bubbled up, leaning forward into julius when he kisses her shoulder in a way that doesn't make her any easier to free of the frankly impractical garments she makes a habit of— )
I will have you both know,
( a warm murmur, in answer to the general air of things unsaid, )
that my present outfitting is, daily, by far a simpler thing than was ever allowed by my lady of the wardrobe.
( this could be so much worse. they don't even know. she says, as she assists in the process, )
I believe there was a time I owned gowns I could not have even instructed you in the removal of.
( the way they're kneeling together on the bed—there isn't really anywhere for the skirts she's wearing to fall to, when they come loose, so much as puff out like a cushion or a parachute as she rises up on her knees, the shape of her suddenly outlined beneath a chemise sheer enough it would have been considered inappropriate for a married woman of status in the city of her birth.
that had, in fact, been one of the reasons she purchased it. )
[ Marcus gladly cedes the fussery of laces and other delicate fastenings to Julius, settled back on his haunches to watch both that and the shape of her as she rises up around the flood of fabric left behind. He strays nearer to impulse, reaching out—
First dragging the sheer fabric up higher to loosen the hems beneath her knees and the trappings of her fallen skirt, and then to (gently) (firmly) push her over and down, a playfulness to the force of it that is no less impatient at the same time. ]
Procure yourself some of those, [ he invites, as he pushes her chemise higher up above her waist. ] See what happens when instructions fail us.
[ He's never used magic in bed, but he has indelicate hands.
Marcus lets himself divert to where Julius is kneeling, ostensibly on the other side of her, and leans over to graze a kiss against his bare shoulder while reaching down to loosen the fastenings of his own trousers.
Impatience is really only a part of what is good about this, the indulgence of it, clothes falling about them like it's raining and there's no need to hurry, no threat of being caught, no possible reprisal, no one to tell them they cannot. ]
We've plenty of time to try that later, [of Marcus's (not unappealing) suggestion. It's something he'd reminded himself of even before the dreams; that they have time, as much as anyone else does. That they needn't apologize or hide. Years on, it's still an impulse he's fighting.
But there are better things to dwell on, presently. The image of Marcus Rowntree impatient is a pleasant one, and Julius's look is appreciative before he moves to retrieve the jar of oil Petrana had cleverly fetched earlier.
Marcus had said they were clever, and that's surely true, but they're still learning one another. Julius would rather ask than risk misreading a signal, and so:]
I can picture a few arrangements, with you between us.
[It's not that Petrana can't weigh in too; it's that he trusts her to do so without prompting, so it's Marcus he addresses.]
What do you think? On our sides? Petra on her back and me behind you? What sounds best?
[Even if the words are conversational, the heat in his tone makes clear he's certainly not holding himself aloof. But on the other hand, he wants to make it clear from the beginning that it's three of them, not two plus one. Giving up some direction is the best way he can think of.]
Neither of you will come near me if I should have a gown we cannot afford to replace—
( —is emphatically, if warmly, said, from her new vantage point beneath them; the way marcus has knelt, and julius has shifted, she has enough space to decide that she will push up onto her elbows and wriggle the rest of the way out of her chemise entirely, discarding it loosely somewhere behind her. on the bed.
(it is lightweight; it slides down, disappears off the edge.)
completely and finally naked, she sports fewer scars than either marcus or julius—thin, silver lines at her hips and abdomen and the underside of her breasts, whippet-thin but soft enough to say she wasn't always, a miniature hour-glass. a smaller bosom than her ambitious corsetry at times suggests.
she says, )
I seem to be upon my back already, ( slyly, drawing her knee alongside marcus's thigh, following the line of it up with her fingers to—
not actually help unfasten his trousers. there is not much shy about her; he seems to be doing so well removing them, there is more than enough space for her to reach past his hand and take him in hers. )
But not for long. He pushes his trousers down past his hips and he kneels forward as Petrana takes him into her grasp, and he can gently kick the last of fabric free. (Another scar bitten into his thigh, high up. Blades, not creature claws or teeth.) In return, he touches her, a broad palm low at her abdomen that glides slowly upwards, rough callused fingers on soft skin. ]
It suits you, [ he says, to her. He looks back to Julius, a frank appraisal that scopes out how he's faring, dickwise, but opts to stay where he is, lounging close to Petrana. (Really, how could he be expected to move away at a time like this.) ]
Behind me, [ he says. ] And I over her. I've not been with two before.
[ And that seems the least overwhelming way to go about it, with some ability to moderate the pace of it whilst between them. On that note—
Marcus slides his hand downwards, pushing his fingers between her legs. ]
[While Julius is not so gauche as to show it, there is a bit of internal satisfaction that he would have guessed right, if he'd committed to guessing. It's not wildly unexpected that Marcus wants at least some measure of control, under the circumstances. Julius is disinclined to blame him.
Instead, he takes instruction with good grace. There's not a truly smooth way (that he can think of), to resettle himself around their various limbs, so he doesn't try, opting instead for expediency and not accidentally resting his knee anywhere he shouldn't. Once he's behind Marcus, he has no complaints of the view. His eyes sweep from Marcus's back to Petrana's face, clearly finding pleasure in both. He rests a hand at Marcus's side, and much like his earlier contact to his jaw, there's a sense of pleasure in simply being allowed. Invited.]
I suspect, [he says, low] that it may take us a bit of practice to coordinate, but I have every faith we'll get there in the end.
( pleasure in looking upon; pleasure mirrored back to him from her face, too, petrana's free hand flattening on the bedding to unnecessarily brace herself in pushing back against marcus's hand, resisting impulse to close her eyes in favour of meeting julius's first, then marcus—
there is delicacy in the fine lines of her, but not in the frank way that she appreciates both the immediate and the anticipated. nor in the way she uses toes hooked behind marcus's calf to pull herself closer underneath him, knees bending, judiciously sliding her hands away from his groin with the thought that it will probably take slightly longer to prepare him than her and she's not getting a man nearly forty off first when she has such high hopes for this morning.
not that she ceases to touch him. her fingers splay out over the scar high on his thigh, memorising its shape, tantalizingly close to where she was stroking him a moment ago and isn't any more. )
[ As much as his body language, his actions, his eye line all seem keyed into Petrana, he is aware of Julius' movements across the bed, his settling behind him, and there is something mildly startling, still, of a touch from behind when his focus is forwards on a warm body. He is in no rush to get used to it.
He shifts a little at the trailing touch of her fingers at his thigh, the odd dual sensations of unfeeling scar tissue and sensitivity surrounding it.
(In this midst of all this, an intrusive memory—not of the original blows that had marked him, but of the ice-hot searing pain that had reopened these scars he'd lived through in a dream. The numbness of his leg, the fresh splitting of muscle and bone striped around his torso. Tasting blood. Derrica, rising up from where she'd collapsed, swinging—)
(—no, not now.)
Likewise, his touches to her stay shallow, light. His fingers push only a little deeper past the gathering slickness of her and then drag back before he can breach her, his body curling forwards against her as beckoned. Not all the way over her, not yet, save to stretch out beneath where Julius' hand rests on him. ]
We've some advantages, [ he says, quiet, lazy, accent likely thicker for it. His eyes are on Petana but it's to Julius he says, ] How does she like to be touched?
Take your time, [Julius says, after a bare pause suggesting thoughtfulness rather than hesitation.] She's taking notes in her head for later, so being deliberate gives her more time to notice details.
[The smile he gives her over Marcus's shoulder is puckish.]
I suspect you'll necessitate an entirely new section. Perhaps a new color of ink.
[That's a tease, but a fond one. One hand stays on Marcus but with the other he touches himself, as unhurried as he's advising Marcus to be. He's already partway erect, but he sees no reason to rush this as Marcus and Petrana settle themselves.]
I will hide that book, ( she threatens, idly, in case marcus thought julius might be being facetious; the fondness that curves her mouth belies it, a little embarrassed but not so much she won't brazen it out. it isn't, after all, as if he's wrong.
her tendency to be even in this a little bit apart...as much as it's something they've worked on (it is not an unpleasant project, julius attempting to white out her capacity for higher thought), and as much as it has shades of something much less safe to relax into, the newness of marcus here in their bed is fascinating in a way that she's inclined to let herself indulge.
she does want to see what he does. the sounds he makes, and when he makes them. how his body moves. what he reaches for; what he likes.
petrana likes to be good at things. she works very hard at it. this, too. but for now, where she is confident— )
I will rush ahead if you aren't careful, too. Use your fingers, Julius, I didn't fetch that oil for decoration.
( though her gaze snags thoughtfully on marcus's shoulders as she says it. )
[ Extremely typical: the thought that if Marcus administers the right combination of ministrations, at the correct pace and firmness, there will be no room left for note taking. So communicates the slightly skeptical raise of an eyebrow as this exchange passes over his shoulder.
He rolls forwards, then, pulling himself up and over her, nudging her far leg aside to make room for him. Her wrist is snagged, the one teasing her hand at his thigh, drawn up to pass by near enough for him to graze a kiss in the centre of her hand before pressing it to the bed.
Gently, firmly, still. Still learning, testing. He says, ]
No you won't,
[ on this second declaration of what she will or will not do. The fate of the book isn't immediately pressing. He presses a kiss against her neck, a gentle gesture that still has that edge of roughness, whether just from the friction of the poor job of shaving he'd carried out this morning or the invasion of space itself.
Conveniently, this acts as courtesy and permission both for Julius to do as she says, and for all to see one another. ]
[The look Petrana gets for her comment about decoration skews arch, but the oil is to hand and refusing to give her what she wants is solidly in cutting off his nose to spite his face territory. He dips his fingers into the oil, absently rubbing the first two against his thumb.
(He has, still, had at least one romance that lasted longer than his his connection to Petrana thus far. Even so, long entanglements have been the exception rather than the rule, and while he's been contented and happy, there's something about the nervous thrill of a new lover that he's always enjoyed. It's been awhile.)
The way he touches Marcus, when he does, is deliberate but not hesitant. The more Marcus has evidenced (not unattractive) impatience, the more Julius is inclined to push back mainly in the form of taking his time. His oil-slicked fingers are exploratory, and it would be a fair criticism to observe he gives no less evidence of being interested in Marcus's reactions than Petrana does.]
( the lazy rise of her eyebrow holds no small amount of sly amusement, even when tipped up toward the ceiling as she tilts her head back to bare more of her throat to marcus's mouth, her feet resting in the dips of the bed where the combined weight of him and julius presses down.
the air between them is humid and warmer than the rest of this room—winter-crisp, except where how very close they are beads sweat between her breasts and a pink flush high in her cheeks.
three bodies only seems practical, suddenly, faced with the weather they have been lately. it is an extremely ridiculous thing to think, but she doesn't laugh at herself; smiles, lopsided, drawing her free hand down along marcus's side and to his hip where she curves her knee around it, casually affectionate. yes, this is—sensible, actually.
when she slides her hand up, into his hair, to see what happens if she twists her fingers in it and pulls,
[ If Julius is going to pick a moment to take his time—
This is a good one to choose. Of the moments. Marcus is occupied in seeking out sensitive spots along Petrana's throat and the bony swoops that lead down to her chest and so gleanable reactions are in the form of the slow wind of tension throughout his body. He is already keeping himself poised over Petrana so as not to completely crush her, shoulders locked and elbows dug into mattress, hips lifted, and so muscle strains to bone, more given to stillness than squirming.
She pulls his hair and his head comes up, breath out hitching through his throat. What happens next is he liked that.
And motion, then, still subtle, his legs parting a fraction as if this might dictate Julius' pace. Beneath him, his erection already feels heavy and heated, and if he had any lack of faith in his proclivities for endurance—
Well, he is learning things too. About how they work. He shifts his weight enough to slip a hand between himself and Petrana, to tease his fingertips down across the warm skin of her abdomen, and lower, the barest outside shape of her between her legs, maybe an unconscious mimic to Julius' own exploring touches. He thinks he could spend a long time learning her with his hands. ]
[Petrana isn't the only one who could stand to do less thinking, but even if Julius is not completely lost to the moment, he is successfully present in it. (The sensation, while it's happening, of this being something he'll want to remember later: the slant of light through the window, the pleasant sense of none of them having anywhere else to be than right here, together, letting the heat between them grow.)
When Julius curls his fingers, it's unhurried too, just as experimental as Petrana tugging on his hair. As if the pair of them might take Marcus apart and put him back together again between them. There are some advantages, arguably, to Julius and Petrana having time to become an effective team.
Even if his own patience gives way before he can truly push Marcus's to its limit — and Julius can admit that it may — the attempt is a pleasure in itself.]
( peculiar, a little, to find that they are such an effective team—at least in this fashion. she has not imagined, previously, welcoming anyone else into their bed; had not imagined what it would be like, what they might want. now it seems strangely easy, natural even, navigating the wants and needs of a third person who wants and needs...julius and petrana, right now.
it pricks a thought at the back of her mind: they will need to not be julius-and-petrana and also marcus. it can wait there, though, because she has more pressingly immediate concerns.
immediately: that marcus is a tease, and that she is calculating their combined patience against her own, and how many hands she has free and if she will lose this one, too, if she presses her luck. possibly. but that is not an unpleasant possibility, and what is luck if not something to press firmly between her legs,
so when she pulls marcus's hair a second time she allows it to slip through her fingers, after, and grasp his wrist between her legs, and press his fingers more insistently where she wants them to be. )
[ There is little room outside of this for thought, although Marcus find himself cataloguing all he might wish to do with them later. To do to Julius as he is doing to him, or this again but differently positioned, so they can see one another, so Marcus could reach him; to test the limits of where Petrana's patience and proclivity for getting her way exists, had he more time, room, less of his own growing urgency.
They sink into the background, however. Being between them is incredibly occupying, caught in that friction between wanting to progress to more which progresses to no more, and wanting to stay exactly here for as long as he could stand it.
Petrana insists, and Marcus obliges. If the kiss he gives her muffles some small sound—
Well, what Julius learns is that it is likely they all suffer some from a sense of control, but perhaps that makes it all the more rewarding when he elicits from Marcus these small movements, readjustments of weight and balance on his knees, the twinge and twitch of muscle through his thighs, his back. The fact that the hand planted on the mattress has now curled into a fist. ]
[If he himself were less on edge, he might tip into smugness at those small reactions, evidence of having an effect. But his can catch the sound of his own breathing, less even than it might be, feel the tension cording through his arm that has little to do with repetitive motion and much to do with anticipation.
The tease is gone from his voice when he says:]
Are you where you want to be?
[In other circumstances, it could be romantic or a prompt for reassurance. In this one, it's practical; easier for Marcus to make adjustments now than later, presumably.]
Chance of a laugh manages to smother itself out as he takes a moment in break off this last kiss. ]
Nearly,
[ is still a little facetious, but he stops working Petrana to go and grip her thigh, and hitch it up a little higher against him, finding alignment. ]
Nearly, ( she repeats, both amused and agreeing—in a more singular context she might wrap her leg around marcus entirely, but when she hitches her knee above his hip she braces her foot against julius's thigh, instead, and there are so many more hands and limbs than she's accustomed to accommodating and it is
not unpleasant. pleasing, in fact. what a long time it might take them to exhaust the possibilities—she cannot imagine being exhausted of the possibilities between them.
she doesn't wait, presently, on the matter of her patience or her desire to have her way; she lifts herself, uses her knees hooked as leverage to pull herself onto marcus where he lines himself up to her cunt. he is, she thinks it a little despite herself, the third man to be so close to her this way—and different, again, where julius had been different from marius and now marcus is different from them both. she can begin to see the appeal, where she had not previously, of different.
but she is possessive, too, in the tight grip of her hand on his arm now, and the way she has been unwilling to share julius with anyone else, and that will need addressing but not now. )
[ Maybe it won't take them too long to become coordinated after all.
Control, again, not to just sink down onto her. She is small and warm and tempting beneath him, and the impulse exists to get wrapped up in one another as soon as he enters her. Another time. Still, the appreciative groan he gives is quiet, barely audible on his exhale. Like relief, like longing. He's longed for her, that much is true.
But he says; ] Julius—, [ a name in favour of explicit direction, and that feels good too. ]
[It's a pleasant surprise, the way his name in Marcus's mouth goes through him. Pulling his hand away then may feel briefly counterproductive, but it's only so he can guide them together in turn.
It is possible, of the three of them, he's let himself imagine least, before now. Even if he had, he's not sure he would have been so bold, even in daydreams. Later, he'll reflect that it's a lesson in not aiming too low. For now, he's thinking very little beyond how good it feels, even as they're still working out the particulars.]
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You might make yourself further useful, there looking so pleased with yourself, ( a little dry. he is much easier to undress than either marcus or petrana, and he at least has more than enough practise with both her clothes and the sort marcus favours so there's no call for him to rest on his naked laurels.
as much as she has yet to tire of seeing him, undressed. she is impatient to better acquaint herself with marcus, too, but they have time—will have time—it is not a race.
she makes a sound that might have been an oath from another woman when her impatience pulls a lace tight instead of undone. not a race. )
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Not that he is complaining that it persists. He finds a hook at the back of her chemise up near the nape of her neck, and this he undoes along with the delicate buttons that hold it closed, although as long as the stays are still causing her grief, the most he can do is push the fabric down off one of her shoulders.
And also sweep her now loose her back, and smooth his hand down the curve of throat and shoulder, and then dip low beneath her neckline as his other hand blindly tugs at lacing that cinches her skirt—
—it's not a race.
But there is a subtle sound from him of confusion and impatience both when that tug does not seem to do what he thinks it will, and he leans back to try to see what he's doing. Why are there so many layers. Why are they fastened in this manner. ]
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It is, after all, not a race.
He takes the moment, though, to press a kiss to Petrana's bare shoulder. And he does not observe that his much-criticized choice of wardrobe has some practical advantages, which is its own act of affection under the circumstances.]
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I will have you both know,
( a warm murmur, in answer to the general air of things unsaid, )
that my present outfitting is, daily, by far a simpler thing than was ever allowed by my lady of the wardrobe.
( this could be so much worse. they don't even know. she says, as she assists in the process, )
I believe there was a time I owned gowns I could not have even instructed you in the removal of.
( the way they're kneeling together on the bed—there isn't really anywhere for the skirts she's wearing to fall to, when they come loose, so much as puff out like a cushion or a parachute as she rises up on her knees, the shape of her suddenly outlined beneath a chemise sheer enough it would have been considered inappropriate for a married woman of status in the city of her birth.
that had, in fact, been one of the reasons she purchased it. )
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First dragging the sheer fabric up higher to loosen the hems beneath her knees and the trappings of her fallen skirt, and then to (gently) (firmly) push her over and down, a playfulness to the force of it that is no less impatient at the same time. ]
Procure yourself some of those, [ he invites, as he pushes her chemise higher up above her waist. ] See what happens when instructions fail us.
[ He's never used magic in bed, but he has indelicate hands.
Marcus lets himself divert to where Julius is kneeling, ostensibly on the other side of her, and leans over to graze a kiss against his bare shoulder while reaching down to loosen the fastenings of his own trousers.
Impatience is really only a part of what is good about this, the indulgence of it, clothes falling about them like it's raining and there's no need to hurry, no threat of being caught, no possible reprisal, no one to tell them they cannot. ]
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But there are better things to dwell on, presently. The image of Marcus Rowntree impatient is a pleasant one, and Julius's look is appreciative before he moves to retrieve the jar of oil Petrana had cleverly fetched earlier.
Marcus had said they were clever, and that's surely true, but they're still learning one another. Julius would rather ask than risk misreading a signal, and so:]
I can picture a few arrangements, with you between us.
[It's not that Petrana can't weigh in too; it's that he trusts her to do so without prompting, so it's Marcus he addresses.]
What do you think? On our sides? Petra on her back and me behind you? What sounds best?
[Even if the words are conversational, the heat in his tone makes clear he's certainly not holding himself aloof. But on the other hand, he wants to make it clear from the beginning that it's three of them, not two plus one. Giving up some direction is the best way he can think of.]
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( —is emphatically, if warmly, said, from her new vantage point beneath them; the way marcus has knelt, and julius has shifted, she has enough space to decide that she will push up onto her elbows and wriggle the rest of the way out of her chemise entirely, discarding it loosely somewhere behind her. on the bed.
(it is lightweight; it slides down, disappears off the edge.)
completely and finally naked, she sports fewer scars than either marcus or julius—thin, silver lines at her hips and abdomen and the underside of her breasts, whippet-thin but soft enough to say she wasn't always, a miniature hour-glass. a smaller bosom than her ambitious corsetry at times suggests.
she says, )
I seem to be upon my back already, ( slyly, drawing her knee alongside marcus's thigh, following the line of it up with her fingers to—
not actually help unfasten his trousers. there is not much shy about her; he seems to be doing so well removing them, there is more than enough space for her to reach past his hand and take him in hers. )
should probably mark nsfw at least once;
But not for long. He pushes his trousers down past his hips and he kneels forward as Petrana takes him into her grasp, and he can gently kick the last of fabric free. (Another scar bitten into his thigh, high up. Blades, not creature claws or teeth.) In return, he touches her, a broad palm low at her abdomen that glides slowly upwards, rough callused fingers on soft skin. ]
It suits you, [ he says, to her. He looks back to Julius, a frank appraisal that scopes out how he's faring, dickwise, but opts to stay where he is, lounging close to Petrana. (Really, how could he be expected to move away at a time like this.) ]
Behind me, [ he says. ] And I over her. I've not been with two before.
[ And that seems the least overwhelming way to go about it, with some ability to moderate the pace of it whilst between them. On that note—
Marcus slides his hand downwards, pushing his fingers between her legs. ]
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Instead, he takes instruction with good grace. There's not a truly smooth way (that he can think of), to resettle himself around their various limbs, so he doesn't try, opting instead for expediency and not accidentally resting his knee anywhere he shouldn't. Once he's behind Marcus, he has no complaints of the view. His eyes sweep from Marcus's back to Petrana's face, clearly finding pleasure in both. He rests a hand at Marcus's side, and much like his earlier contact to his jaw, there's a sense of pleasure in simply being allowed. Invited.]
I suspect, [he says, low] that it may take us a bit of practice to coordinate, but I have every faith we'll get there in the end.
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there is delicacy in the fine lines of her, but not in the frank way that she appreciates both the immediate and the anticipated. nor in the way she uses toes hooked behind marcus's calf to pull herself closer underneath him, knees bending, judiciously sliding her hands away from his groin with the thought that it will probably take slightly longer to prepare him than her and she's not getting a man nearly forty off first when she has such high hopes for this morning.
not that she ceases to touch him. her fingers splay out over the scar high on his thigh, memorising its shape, tantalizingly close to where she was stroking him a moment ago and isn't any more. )
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He shifts a little at the trailing touch of her fingers at his thigh, the odd dual sensations of unfeeling scar tissue and sensitivity surrounding it.
(In this midst of all this, an intrusive memory—not of the original blows that had marked him, but of the ice-hot searing pain that had reopened these scars he'd lived through in a dream. The numbness of his leg, the fresh splitting of muscle and bone striped around his torso. Tasting blood. Derrica, rising up from where she'd collapsed, swinging—)
(—no, not now.)
Likewise, his touches to her stay shallow, light. His fingers push only a little deeper past the gathering slickness of her and then drag back before he can breach her, his body curling forwards against her as beckoned. Not all the way over her, not yet, save to stretch out beneath where Julius' hand rests on him. ]
We've some advantages, [ he says, quiet, lazy, accent likely thicker for it. His eyes are on Petana but it's to Julius he says, ] How does she like to be touched?
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[The smile he gives her over Marcus's shoulder is puckish.]
I suspect you'll necessitate an entirely new section. Perhaps a new color of ink.
[That's a tease, but a fond one. One hand stays on Marcus but with the other he touches himself, as unhurried as he's advising Marcus to be. He's already partway erect, but he sees no reason to rush this as Marcus and Petrana settle themselves.]
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her tendency to be even in this a little bit apart...as much as it's something they've worked on (it is not an unpleasant project, julius attempting to white out her capacity for higher thought), and as much as it has shades of something much less safe to relax into, the newness of marcus here in their bed is fascinating in a way that she's inclined to let herself indulge.
she does want to see what he does. the sounds he makes, and when he makes them. how his body moves. what he reaches for; what he likes.
petrana likes to be good at things. she works very hard at it. this, too. but for now, where she is confident— )
I will rush ahead if you aren't careful, too. Use your fingers, Julius, I didn't fetch that oil for decoration.
( though her gaze snags thoughtfully on marcus's shoulders as she says it. )
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He rolls forwards, then, pulling himself up and over her, nudging her far leg aside to make room for him. Her wrist is snagged, the one teasing her hand at his thigh, drawn up to pass by near enough for him to graze a kiss in the centre of her hand before pressing it to the bed.
Gently, firmly, still. Still learning, testing. He says, ]
No you won't,
[ on this second declaration of what she will or will not do. The fate of the book isn't immediately pressing. He presses a kiss against her neck, a gentle gesture that still has that edge of roughness, whether just from the friction of the poor job of shaving he'd carried out this morning or the invasion of space itself.
Conveniently, this acts as courtesy and permission both for Julius to do as she says, and for all to see one another. ]
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(He has, still, had at least one romance that lasted longer than his his connection to Petrana thus far. Even so, long entanglements have been the exception rather than the rule, and while he's been contented and happy, there's something about the nervous thrill of a new lover that he's always enjoyed. It's been awhile.)
The way he touches Marcus, when he does, is deliberate but not hesitant. The more Marcus has evidenced (not unattractive) impatience, the more Julius is inclined to push back mainly in the form of taking his time. His oil-slicked fingers are exploratory, and it would be a fair criticism to observe he gives no less evidence of being interested in Marcus's reactions than Petrana does.]
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the air between them is humid and warmer than the rest of this room—winter-crisp, except where how very close they are beads sweat between her breasts and a pink flush high in her cheeks.
three bodies only seems practical, suddenly, faced with the weather they have been lately. it is an extremely ridiculous thing to think, but she doesn't laugh at herself; smiles, lopsided, drawing her free hand down along marcus's side and to his hip where she curves her knee around it, casually affectionate. yes, this is—sensible, actually.
when she slides her hand up, into his hair, to see what happens if she twists her fingers in it and pulls,
that is purely to see what happens next. )
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This is a good one to choose. Of the moments. Marcus is occupied in seeking out sensitive spots along Petrana's throat and the bony swoops that lead down to her chest and so gleanable reactions are in the form of the slow wind of tension throughout his body. He is already keeping himself poised over Petrana so as not to completely crush her, shoulders locked and elbows dug into mattress, hips lifted, and so muscle strains to bone, more given to stillness than squirming.
She pulls his hair and his head comes up, breath out hitching through his throat. What happens next is he liked that.
And motion, then, still subtle, his legs parting a fraction as if this might dictate Julius' pace. Beneath him, his erection already feels heavy and heated, and if he had any lack of faith in his proclivities for endurance—
Well, he is learning things too. About how they work. He shifts his weight enough to slip a hand between himself and Petrana, to tease his fingertips down across the warm skin of her abdomen, and lower, the barest outside shape of her between her legs, maybe an unconscious mimic to Julius' own exploring touches. He thinks he could spend a long time learning her with his hands. ]
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When Julius curls his fingers, it's unhurried too, just as experimental as Petrana tugging on his hair. As if the pair of them might take Marcus apart and put him back together again between them. There are some advantages, arguably, to Julius and Petrana having time to become an effective team.
Even if his own patience gives way before he can truly push Marcus's to its limit — and Julius can admit that it may — the attempt is a pleasure in itself.]
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it pricks a thought at the back of her mind: they will need to not be julius-and-petrana and also marcus. it can wait there, though, because she has more pressingly immediate concerns.
immediately: that marcus is a tease, and that she is calculating their combined patience against her own, and how many hands she has free and if she will lose this one, too, if she presses her luck. possibly. but that is not an unpleasant possibility, and what is luck if not something to press firmly between her legs,
so when she pulls marcus's hair a second time she allows it to slip through her fingers, after, and grasp his wrist between her legs, and press his fingers more insistently where she wants them to be. )
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They sink into the background, however. Being between them is incredibly occupying, caught in that friction between wanting to progress to more which progresses to no more, and wanting to stay exactly here for as long as he could stand it.
Petrana insists, and Marcus obliges. If the kiss he gives her muffles some small sound—
Well, what Julius learns is that it is likely they all suffer some from a sense of control, but perhaps that makes it all the more rewarding when he elicits from Marcus these small movements, readjustments of weight and balance on his knees, the twinge and twitch of muscle through his thighs, his back. The fact that the hand planted on the mattress has now curled into a fist. ]
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The tease is gone from his voice when he says:]
Are you where you want to be?
[In other circumstances, it could be romantic or a prompt for reassurance. In this one, it's practical; easier for Marcus to make adjustments now than later, presumably.]
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Chance of a laugh manages to smother itself out as he takes a moment in break off this last kiss. ]
Nearly,
[ is still a little facetious, but he stops working Petrana to go and grip her thigh, and hitch it up a little higher against him, finding alignment. ]
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not unpleasant. pleasing, in fact. what a long time it might take them to exhaust the possibilities—she cannot imagine being exhausted of the possibilities between them.
she doesn't wait, presently, on the matter of her patience or her desire to have her way; she lifts herself, uses her knees hooked as leverage to pull herself onto marcus where he lines himself up to her cunt. he is, she thinks it a little despite herself, the third man to be so close to her this way—and different, again, where julius had been different from marius and now marcus is different from them both. she can begin to see the appeal, where she had not previously, of different.
but she is possessive, too, in the tight grip of her hand on his arm now, and the way she has been unwilling to share julius with anyone else, and that will need addressing but not now. )
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Control, again, not to just sink down onto her. She is small and warm and tempting beneath him, and the impulse exists to get wrapped up in one another as soon as he enters her. Another time. Still, the appreciative groan he gives is quiet, barely audible on his exhale. Like relief, like longing. He's longed for her, that much is true.
But he says; ] Julius—, [ a name in favour of explicit direction, and that feels good too. ]
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It is possible, of the three of them, he's let himself imagine least, before now. Even if he had, he's not sure he would have been so bold, even in daydreams. Later, he'll reflect that it's a lesson in not aiming too low. For now, he's thinking very little beyond how good it feels, even as they're still working out the particulars.]
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