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.]
( this is, she thinks, precisely what she had been so terribly concerned in the herald's dream that she might have entirely missed out upon. there is some satisfaction in finding it as good—better than—she imagined it could have been, as she'd wrung her hands at the idea it had already turned to smoke between them before she'd known it was even possible.
she kisses marcus again, because he's there and it's a pleasant thing to do with his mouth and her own, and slides her hand over marcus and julius's both on his side— )
Come down here, ( affectionately. she knows what that noise means. )
[ Marcus is near meditative in his own satisfaction as Julius finishes, the firmer handling something familiar and not unappreciated. Also not unappreciated: when it's over, and the gravity of slipping sideways off of Petra and into the bed beside her, muscles all along his back and legs and arms a riot of pleasant aching exhaustion that may be less pleasant tomorrow.
That's fine. What's a tomorrow, can he fuck it, etc.
He breathes slow and deep, boneless while the other two arrange themselves as they may. Even if he had inclination to be insecure, any worry about being kicked out of bed now that it's over would be circumvented by the fact he can no longer move, possibly forever. ]
[As they come apart, Julius winds up the one who is momentarily in the middle. He catches Petrana in a heated and lingering kiss, one hand going to her side and the other, behind him, grazing Marcus's hip absently. He has the vague idea of rearranging to keep Marcus between the two of them, as if that goal was in itself very important. But his focus and his motor functions are both sufficiently fuzzy that it may take a moment for that intention to realistically become possible.]
( it is eventually none of those things that actually stops them from indefinitely curling up around marcus like particularly well-read, mostly-blonde bookends—though it is among them, because petrana is no more immediately inclined to move from where she lands. she couldn't confidently assert, however, if it's five minutes or fifteen or longer between that hazy, very good moment and the way her eyes snag on the window and the height of the sun and— )
Silver, ( she says, abruptly, using one hand directly flattened on julius's pectoral to lever herself up from the bed.
she is suddenly a flurry of movement and fabric, a wet cloth dragged briskly between her legs and some fewer than the number of layers they removed from her hastily laced back on, the effort to right her hair not very successful. there are kisses, marcus and then julius and then the dog (their mouths; his forehead), and: )
I have an appointment—I will be back—I would very much like us to do that again, and in fact exclusively—Julius, tell him, I am going to be late—
[ The summoning of Silver's name has Marcus' cracking open one eye, at least, not all the way startled into thinking that man in particular has materialised into the room or anything. As Petrana becomes a whirlwind of activity, he seems to sink even deeper amongst the bedding and pillows and Julius, as stubbornly given to lazing as a big lion after a meal he didn't totally earn for himself.
Stirs, a little, when he is kissed, noting her state of dress with some baffle, before her words register too.
His focus turns to Julius, head slightly lifted. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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she kisses marcus again, because he's there and it's a pleasant thing to do with his mouth and her own, and slides her hand over marcus and julius's both on his side— )
Come down here, ( affectionately. she knows what that noise means. )
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That's fine. What's a tomorrow, can he fuck it, etc.
He breathes slow and deep, boneless while the other two arrange themselves as they may. Even if he had inclination to be insecure, any worry about being kicked out of bed now that it's over would be circumvented by the fact he can no longer move, possibly forever. ]
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Silver, ( she says, abruptly, using one hand directly flattened on julius's pectoral to lever herself up from the bed.
she is suddenly a flurry of movement and fabric, a wet cloth dragged briskly between her legs and some fewer than the number of layers they removed from her hastily laced back on, the effort to right her hair not very successful. there are kisses, marcus and then julius and then the dog (their mouths; his forehead), and: )
I have an appointment—I will be back—I would very much like us to do that again, and in fact exclusively—Julius, tell him, I am going to be late—
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Stirs, a little, when he is kissed, noting her state of dress with some baffle, before her words register too.
His focus turns to Julius, head slightly lifted. ]
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