( 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.]
and—messy, in a way that she appreciates, real. it's a trick, trying to find a rhythm between the three of them; an unusual challenge, one that reminds her distantly of that analogy for magic that she's always fallen back on, like music. they are not quite playing their instruments in time,
yet, and it makes her breathe out something like a laugh, jostling, squirming, finding herself tapping her fingertips against marcus's bicep as if beating out a melody to steer by. it is tempting to rush and necessary to slow down and find one another. she can note as they do: the pleasant ache of holding her thighs apart, the way sweat-slicked skin slides against each other, the way that she could feel in the shift of marcus's muscles julius entering him and that she didn't expect that, specifically, to make her involuntarily tighten, anticipating.
everyone is learning new things about themselves, this morning. it is better than the night's lessons before. )
[ Julius enters him, and tension ropes fast through his body. You want to relax in such moments, but it's impossible for a good several seconds. Not unpleasant seconds, but Marcus does have to almost silently talk himself into it, in finding how to be and how to move and how to position himself between two extremely vital things happening to him.
And as they do move together, the first few slightly clumsy motions, his first few breaths in and out are vocal, or he thinks it is the first of it before he settles until he finds he can't make himself be silent. Normally that comes later, closer to the climb.
But he's not there yet, in spite of it, even if he feels like he is already barely hanging on. He can barely hang on for quite some time. He finds there is something very good in the way Julius fucking him presses him into Petrana, and matches his pace. He finds that like this, there isn't room to move as much as he is used to, but these subtle grinding motions make everything feel close and intimate and pressured.
He feels where Julius has a hand on his side, and drops his own over it. He feels Petrana's on his arm, the subtle scratch of her nails when her fingers curl. Details to remember later, when he remembers this. ]
[The awkwardness of it gradually gives way to something a bit more synchronized as they catch one another's rhythm. His fingers press in to Marcus's skin, both for balance and in response to Marcus's touch. For a brief moment, Julius has the giddy sensation that even their breath might align with practice, but it's a thought that slides away again as soon as it arises.
His eyes find Petrana's, and as much as their contact is only the incidental brush of skin around their respective contact with Marcus, it does feel like the three of them; like they've entered a conspiracy to trap Marcus there and not let him go again. (Perhaps they have, a bit.) Left to his own devices, he's inclined to go a bit faster, but they've only just hit their stride and he's focusing on not falling out of sync again so soon.]
( marcus is heavy above her and inside of her and she can feel the way that julius's muscles shift with effort beneath her foot against his thigh—they move in tandem and she finds there's something very appealing about the way she winds tense with impatience and cannot, feasibly, hurry them together along the way she has on other occasions urged julius faster and harder and more urgent.
the pace is, by necessity, slower. it is an excellent form of torment, the steady build towards climax inexorable and she has finally ceased to push and fuss and banter, her brow furrowed in concentration instead and her nails leaving half-moons pressed into marcus's skin as she mouths against his shoulder and there flashes a not unfamiliar expression toward julius. the I like what you're doing look that says, also, but later I'm going to sit on your face at whatever pace I like. )
[ Normally, he might do more to stoke Petrana's pleasure. He might use his hands, kiss her breathlessly, all sorts of clever, articulate things. Hopefully she is having a nice time like this, with this steady pace and the crush of him against her and the occasional open-mouthed kiss on her throat while he breathes in the scent of her loose hair, because it is just about all Marcus can do. He holds his weight on his elbows, his knees, and shudders beneath and above them as they move and breathe together.
And that, in itself, is oddly pleasurable for its own sake.
But he can, at least, set a pace. He can reach back, which he does, clasping Julius' hip, urging him in close and still until they can reset and start again at Marcus' silent dictation, just incrementally more urgent than before. Likely not enough for certain princesses, but something. ]
[Petrana's look wins a brief but rueful grin from Julius, who can read it very well but doesn't have the spare focus to linger over it. He accepts Marcus's urging gratefully enough, eager but still controlled. He thinks that they're all likely to have a list of other things to try, after this, which is a pleasant prospect in its own right. But for now everything narrows down to the present, a moment full enough on its own.
He shifts his weight, more a function of the deliberate pace than an intentional provocation, but even the small shift in angle is enough to make him catch his breath, just short of a groan.]
( contrarily, it's the slower, steadier build of rhythm between them that means when petrana does lose her breath to it and tense beneath marcus, her toes curling against julius's thigh and the breath that she wasn't aware of holding gasped to the ceiling, it takes her off-guard. in one moment she's teetering on that precipice, impatient, and then she's halfway over it before she's realised it's going to happen. the muscles in her abdomen tighten almost uncomfortably as she strains, abruptly hyper-sensitive and flinging the hand that had been on marcus's arm behind herself, curling fingers white-knuckled into the bedding.
so that works, actually—she says something half-coherent in what sounds like and is not orlesian, which julius at least knows her in these moments well enough to probably guess is a very obvious instruction that marcus will probably follow whether he particularly recognises it or not,
though it is some effort on her part to open her eyes again to look at him. effort that she makes, determined, teeth in her own lip and fingers still in the sheets. )
[ He's at a point where even that slight shift of angle and position of Julius behind him might have sent him over, had he willed it, but he doesn't will it. Not until—
Marcus feels her start and then—the sudden buck, and clench, and maybe there's a break in rhythm as Marcus follows impulses and pushes hard up against her as she comes. There's nothing else he can do but follow suit as the last of her shudders drag him down with her, arching back against Julius inasmuch as there's any difference.
Hands grip bedding, and he is quiet until relief rushes warm through his body, gasping out a held breath and only barely catching himself from collapsing on top of her.
He stays as he is. He moves back against the other man, opening his eyes again to look at her once more, bringing a hand up to usher her into a kiss. ]
[For all Julius is close, he's not quite close enough for the domino effect to send him tumbling immediately after the two of them. But as Marcus leans back toward him, Julius takes a stronger hand, less concerned about pulling him (them) along with him now. The control he was exerting earlier is contrarily more obvious now that he eases it some, and his hand is likely to leave a bruise.
When his release catches him, it's the first real sound he's made since conversation lapsed, a deep groan of satisfaction. Of something like relief.]
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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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and—messy, in a way that she appreciates, real. it's a trick, trying to find a rhythm between the three of them; an unusual challenge, one that reminds her distantly of that analogy for magic that she's always fallen back on, like music. they are not quite playing their instruments in time,
yet, and it makes her breathe out something like a laugh, jostling, squirming, finding herself tapping her fingertips against marcus's bicep as if beating out a melody to steer by. it is tempting to rush and necessary to slow down and find one another. she can note as they do: the pleasant ache of holding her thighs apart, the way sweat-slicked skin slides against each other, the way that she could feel in the shift of marcus's muscles julius entering him and that she didn't expect that, specifically, to make her involuntarily tighten, anticipating.
everyone is learning new things about themselves, this morning. it is better than the night's lessons before. )
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And as they do move together, the first few slightly clumsy motions, his first few breaths in and out are vocal, or he thinks it is the first of it before he settles until he finds he can't make himself be silent. Normally that comes later, closer to the climb.
But he's not there yet, in spite of it, even if he feels like he is already barely hanging on. He can barely hang on for quite some time. He finds there is something very good in the way Julius fucking him presses him into Petrana, and matches his pace. He finds that like this, there isn't room to move as much as he is used to, but these subtle grinding motions make everything feel close and intimate and pressured.
He feels where Julius has a hand on his side, and drops his own over it. He feels Petrana's on his arm, the subtle scratch of her nails when her fingers curl. Details to remember later, when he remembers this. ]
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His eyes find Petrana's, and as much as their contact is only the incidental brush of skin around their respective contact with Marcus, it does feel like the three of them; like they've entered a conspiracy to trap Marcus there and not let him go again. (Perhaps they have, a bit.) Left to his own devices, he's inclined to go a bit faster, but they've only just hit their stride and he's focusing on not falling out of sync again so soon.]
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the pace is, by necessity, slower. it is an excellent form of torment, the steady build towards climax inexorable and she has finally ceased to push and fuss and banter, her brow furrowed in concentration instead and her nails leaving half-moons pressed into marcus's skin as she mouths against his shoulder and there flashes a not unfamiliar expression toward julius. the I like what you're doing look that says, also, but later I'm going to sit on your face at whatever pace I like. )
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And that, in itself, is oddly pleasurable for its own sake.
But he can, at least, set a pace. He can reach back, which he does, clasping Julius' hip, urging him in close and still until they can reset and start again at Marcus' silent dictation, just incrementally more urgent than before. Likely not enough for certain princesses, but something. ]
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He shifts his weight, more a function of the deliberate pace than an intentional provocation, but even the small shift in angle is enough to make him catch his breath, just short of a groan.]
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so that works, actually—she says something half-coherent in what sounds like and is not orlesian, which julius at least knows her in these moments well enough to probably guess is a very obvious instruction that marcus will probably follow whether he particularly recognises it or not,
though it is some effort on her part to open her eyes again to look at him. effort that she makes, determined, teeth in her own lip and fingers still in the sheets. )
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Marcus feels her start and then—the sudden buck, and clench, and maybe there's a break in rhythm as Marcus follows impulses and pushes hard up against her as she comes. There's nothing else he can do but follow suit as the last of her shudders drag him down with her, arching back against Julius inasmuch as there's any difference.
Hands grip bedding, and he is quiet until relief rushes warm through his body, gasping out a held breath and only barely catching himself from collapsing on top of her.
He stays as he is. He moves back against the other man, opening his eyes again to look at her once more, bringing a hand up to usher her into a kiss. ]
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When his release catches him, it's the first real sound he's made since conversation lapsed, a deep groan of satisfaction. Of something like relief.]
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