Diamond in the Rough

Summary: Ya don’t wanna know.

Author’s Note: I had to add this. Yes, I’m demented. But everyone in this story had to have a happy ending.

Victor was bored.

It had been three months since the wedding, and the castle at Towering Trees was frustratingly quiet. Victor missed the sound of Logan’s bellowing throughout the halls and their jaunts to the inn. Occasionally he visited their new stronghold on the border for a game of cards, but it wasn’t the same as having a regular partner in crime-slash-ruler to carouse and hunt with on a regular basis.

But he was glad that Prince James was happy. Sickeningly so, from what he’d witnessed. Remy had practically domesticated him, and Logan threw himself full swing into being a father. He took his husband and stepson hunting and sat with Etienne during his lessons, enjoying his presence and his energy. Logan had more of a spring in his step, seeming younger now, somehow, than he was before he met Remy.

Their family crest combined the shields of both kingdoms and flew high on the palace banners of midnight blue, their new kingdom’s colors. The surrounding grounds were lush and verdant, teeming with wildlife. Logan never felt more at home.

Victor found slight consolation in Logan’s friends at the inn, and Hank, Bobby and Warren happily made room at the card table for him when he was off-duty. But Victor still felt lonely, perhaps even restless. He didn’t know how to cure it.

He begged off on another round of whisky and poker, holding up his hand.

“Don’t tell me you’re done in already?” Bobby accused, cocking one brow.

“Headed upstairs?” Warren asked. He smirked, knowing that usually involved Victor bringing up some “company” to his small, favorite room that he usually rented when he was away from the castle.

“Nah. I’m out. I’ve had enough fer tonight, bub.” He clapped him on the shoulder once he rose, and he shook Hank’s furry hand as he extended it to him.

“Safe journey, my friend.”

“Have I ever failed in that, bub?” He raised his hood over his long golden hair and headed out into the night.

Victor gave his stallion its head and galloped home, working up a healthy sweat and enjoying the night breeze. He caught the scent of rain in the air and reveled in it, particularly the hint of ozone that preluded an impressive storm.

*

“It isn’t fit for man nor beast out there,” Pietro muttered as he drew back the curtain and watched the long arcs of white-blue lightning streak across the sky. Jean-Paul jumped at the sound of another round of thunder. He shivered.

“I hate that,” he snapped.

“Why? Afraid?” Pietro mocked. Jean-Paul reached out to clout him, but he was interrupted by a loud knock at the front gate.

“Who on earth could that be?” Pietro followed him out of curiosity as they hurried from the main dining room where they had been polishing the silver.

The banging turned into pounding, flustering them. “Give me a moment!” Jean-Paul called out. He fumbled with the bolt and jerked it back, and Pietro opened the heavy door. They stared aghast at Victor as he stood dripping and leering at them from the other side of the threshold.

“Gonna get outta the way and let me in?”

“Goodness, you look a fright,” Jean-Paul tsked, stepping aside and watching him stride into the hall.

“Why? Afraid?” he threw over his shoulder. Pietro smothered a laugh. This time Jean-Paul did clout him.

“You’re dripping!” Pietro screeched, heedless of the fact that it was late and that his voice would carry. “Don’t go one more step.” He ran out and gathered several towels from the kitchen while Jean-Paul wrestled with Victor for his sodden cloak.

“You’re absolutely filthy…oh, my God, and you positively reek!” Jean-Paul fanned his nose and grimaced. Victor grinned.

“I’m smellin’ like roses, bub. Gotta be somethin’ wrong with yer nose.” Victor was rank with sweat that the rain did nothing to cleanse away, and there was a healthy dose of whisky on his breath. Jean-Paul snatched his cloak away from his body even as Victor’s hands batted him away. The cloak did little to shield him from the elements, telling Jean-Paul he no doubt rode his horse til he was lathered. His trousers and most of his shirt were soaked.

The white cotton was transparent and clung to his ruddy skin, outlining his broad muscles. His nipples were hard little beads poking out the fabric, and Victor’s face and neck were flecked with bits of mud. There was even a leaf or two tangled in his hair, and his long braid was thoroughly mussed.

He looked so desirable that Jean-Paul’s mouth went dry.

Instead, he launched into full nagging mode, grasping Victor’s large, knobby elbow. “Out! You won’t stand here and ruin my nice floors!” He led him into the kitchen, and Victor was surprised at Jean-Paul’s wiry strength.

“Hey!”

“Those boots are atrocious,” he snapped. They were dripping mud and looked like they hadn’t been polished since Victor owned them. The leather was cracked and almost worn through over the toes. Pietro was clucking and fussing behind them, mopping up the rain water and mud in Victor’s wake.

Both valets shoved Victor into a chair by the hearth. Pietro promptly knelt and worked Victor’s boots off, grimacing at the dirt that now streaked his tunic.

“Ugh,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re a piece of work, Victor.”

“Thanks,” he shrugged. “Whaddya got ta drink in here?”

“Are you cold?” Jean-Paul’s blue eyes looked concerned.

“Nah. Just wet.”

“Clem’s gone to bed,” Pietro pointed out. “It won’t take but a minute to fix you something.” He began moving about the kitchen, taking down various ingredients and unwrapping a plate on the large pine table. Pietro set out a few vanilla cookies and poured some rum into a small pot. Soon the scent drifted through the kitchen.

“I usually ain’t one fer rum.”

“Try it. It will warm you up.”

Victor allowed their fussing over him, almost enjoying the attention.

Like Victor, Jean-Paul and Pietro were also bored, and slightly lonely without Logan’s presence in the castle, as well as Prince Remy once they’d grown accustomed to him being there. It went beyond simple lust; in their own solicitous, fawning, nagging way, they adored Logan. His absence was keenly felt.

Victor’s arrival provided an opportunity and a distraction. He was an absolute mess.

“You should really get out of those clothes.”

“M’fine fer the moment.”

“Your hair is dripping, too. What got into you, Victor, riding out so late?”

“Can’t tell the rain not ta come,” he argued, shrugging. Jean-Paul sprinkled some cloves and sugar into the rum, lending it a delicious scent, then dropped in a dollop of butter. He poured it into a large tankard and pressed it into his hand. Victor mumbled thanks over the rim and took a long gulp.

“Hm,” he nodded, giving Jean-Paul a vestige of a smile. Victor never smiled at them, only leered. “Thanks.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” Suddenly he was aware of Pietro by his feet, rubbing them briskly with a towel. “What the hell are ya doin’, Petunia?”

“Your poor feet are blue.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“Your feet are important. You’ll catch your death, or an infection.” Jean-Paul nodded in agreement.

“Wet hair isn’t helping any,” he added, taking another towel and massaging his hair without permission.

“Hey!”

“You’re filthy,” Jean-Paul tsked. “Finish your drink so I can wash the cup.”

“Bossy,” he muttered, but Victor grudgingly did as he was told. It felt strange, having Logan’s former grooms’ hands tugging and pulling at him, since Victor was only a member of Logan’s staff himself and had no title. But it was late, and who was he to object if they wanted to see to his comfort?

And to his surprise, it felt very good. Pietro was kneading his toes and the tender ball of his foot.

“Your toenails are deplorable. And you have callouses a mile thick. When’s the last time you used a pumice stone?”

“Are ya kiddin’? Do I look like a guy who gives a damn about bein’ silky smooth, bub?”

“It doesn’t hurt to pretend you’re civilized once in a great while,” Jean-Paul scolded with a sigh. “Really, now. You don’t even take care of this lovely hair.”

“It’s gorgeous, but he’s right,” Pietro chimed in. Jean-Paul had deftly unbraided the wet mass, and it expanded as he ran his hands through it. He loosened tangles and tugged out the fragments of leaves, then experimentally kneaded the bones behind Victor’s ears with his thumbs.

Victor made a sound suspiciously like a purr. He leaned back slightly in his chair and closed his eyes. “Do it again,” he grumbled. Jean-Paul raised his brows, but he complied.

And it was addictive. Victor was always so…hard and unyielding, but his body was almost pliant beneath their hands. His breathing was slow and deep, and his eyes shuttered in pleasure as Jean-Paul kneaded his shoulders and neck.

Victor became slowly aware of the effect their attention was having on his body as tension leaked out of his muscles and his skin warmed beneath their touch, despite his damp clothing. The kitchen was warm from the fire in the hearth, and Jean-Paul had set several kettles to boil for a bath.

“You’re a big ruffian,” Jean-Paul tsked.

“Part of my charm.” One icy blue eye cracked open, peering up at Jean-Paul, then closed again as he leaned back against him, head butting up against his chest.

Jean-Paul became hard as a rock. His skin flushed and he had a hard time controlling himself from wanting to take liberties.

He shook off his daze and croaked “Perhaps we should draw you a bath in the tub room. I hate to drag all those pots upstairs and disturb anyone.”

“My room’s down here,” he reminded them. “I’ve never lived upstairs.”

“Oh.” Pietro hadn’t even thought of it. During their comings and goings, they seldom saw Victor in any room of the house except the kitchen or great hall. Mostly they just heard his voice teasing them or bellowing like a beast.

They lit the lanterns in Victor’s room and stoked up a fire in the grate, filling the Spartan quarters with a cheery glow. The flames threw dancing shadows across the walls. To his credit, the chamber was surprisingly tidy; the bed was made with the covers pulled so taut that you could bounce a coin off them.

Victor was yawning like a lion, preceding them into the room. Pietro and Jean-Paul hauled a large stock tub into the room, deciding it would fit Victor’s needs more adequately due to his size. The regular one would have left his long legs crammed to his chest.

“Were your parents large people, Victor?” Pietro asked.

“Why?”

“Just…wondering.”

“Nah. Ma was a tiny thing. Daddy wasn’t even yer size.” Pietro and Jean-Paul weren’t short by any means, both of them roughly six feet tall and built on lean lines, but Victor dwarfed them by a full head.

“I can soak these tonight and finished them tomorrow,” Jean-Paul suggested, nodding to his wet clothes. Victor shrugged as he began to undo the buttons. “Here. Let me.” Jean-Paul’s hands captured his, stilling them. He gently lowered it and deftly opened each fastening, revealing his broad, hard chest. “Goodness…you’re enormous…”

He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud. He looked up and found Victor staring at him with a strange light in his eyes, blond brows beetled.

“Ya don’t hafta worry about it, I can do it.” But he didn’t stop him from shucking off the sodden shirt, drawing the sleeves down his brawny arms. The thin layer of blond hair was plastered against his skin, downy in the firelight. Pietro began to fill the tub with the kettles. The room began to fill with steam, and he added sprigs of lavender and a packet of chamomile to the water, infusing the room with its soothing fragrance.

“Suit yourself,” Jean-Paul said. But when he turned away to help Pietro, he heard Victor grunt in annoyance.

“It’s…stuck.” His fingers were shriveled from the rain, and not as sensitive when working the tighter fastenings on his trousers.

“Er…need any…help, Victor?” This came from Pietro. His hand drifted hesitantly for his waistband. “Do you mind?”

He reached for the buttons and deftly pulled it through the hole with a slight jerk. Victor’s abdomen tensed, muscles stiffening, and Pietro snatched away his hand. He was going to turn away again, but Victor called him back.

“They’re wet. They’re practically stuck ta me.”

This time both men hurried forward, Jean-Paul allowing Victor to wrap his arm around his shoulders for balance while Pietro tugged the stubborn pants down from his hips.

Lust crept over them like a rash. Pietro worked the slacks down his tapered, well-muscled thighs that seemed to be a mile long and covered with more of that golden brown hair. His calves were round and bulging with rangy muscle, giving way to his large, broad feet.

He stood in the white, flimsy drawers, damp too, since he’d been soaked through. Pietro urged him to step out of the trousers while he laid them across a chair to dry.

“Wanna grab these, too, while yer down there Petunia?”

“Don’t call me that,” he chided him, but he was blushing furiously as he grabbed the hem of the drawers and pulled. Jean-Paul bent to help him, and they worked them off, exposing his masculine glory.

Which was…considerable.

Victor peered down at them and smirked. “Whatsamatter? Cat got yer tongue?”

“Oh.”

“No.” But they were eye to eye with the most impressive specimen of manhood they’d ever seen at such close range.

Jean-Paul and Pietro made no secret of their preferences, and they both took lovers discreetly and roomed together at the castle. But they were close from the moment that they met and bickered like an old married couple. They became lovers out of convenience at first, then out of a quiet, deep respect and admiration. Jean-Paul was stubborn and volatile with a hot temper, while Pietro was smooth and sometimes calculating, yet also vulnerable. They complemented each other.

But right now, Victor’s phallus bobbed slightly once freed from hiding. His chilled flesh was already erect and swollen, jutting out from a generous nest of golden brown, crisply curled hair. The long vein along its underside stood out in sharp relief, and the head was plump and looked smooth as silk, begging to be touched. It was alarmingly close to their mouths…

“Let’s…bathe you.” They rose shakily to their feet and watched him smirk, turning to step into the tub.

“Hot,” he hissed, but once he eased himself down, the heat enveloped him and drove away the chill on his skin. “Ahhhhhhhhhh…” His groan was throaty and content. Jean-Paul and Pietro swallowed. “Soap?”

“Huh?”

“Soap,” he asked patiently, shooting them a sharp glance. “Ya know, that funny smellin’ stuff ya wash with that gets rid of the dirt?”

Jean-Paul tutted under his breath and retrieved a slightly soft lump of soap.

“Smells girly,” Victor remarked as he handed it to him. He promptly handed it back.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothin’. But I want ya ta do my back first.”

Jean-Paul was just about ready for a heart attack. Gingerly he dipped the bar into the water, barely brushing Victor’s arm. He rubbed it in his hands and began to massage his shoulders again, letting his hands slide over his hard muscles more easily. Victor groaned with need, a throaty, rough sound that made heat flood Jean-Paul’s crotch.

“You’ll need your hair washed,” Pietro mentioned casually, eyes burning with envy. He retrieved it and poured some into his hand as he approached the tub. He began to distribute it through Victor’s already-damp hair, using a small pitcher to pour a stream of water over the sodden locks and build up more lather. Jean-Paul was surprised that Pietro was up at the head of the tub next to him for a change, but he made room as they worked on their new pet project, making Victor smell more civilized, or at any rate, less like a bear in heat.

And they grew lost in him. His skin felt so satisfying to stroke, supple and covered with its layer of fine blond hair in all the right places. His nipples peaked into hard, pinkish beige little buds that tingled with a rush of sensation every time they so much as nicked one with the soap. Jean-Paul’s eyes were dark with passion.

“Is the water still warm enough, Victor?”

“Yeah,” he rumbled in contentment. He was still making those throaty purrs and his body was growing deliciously limp. His muscles had been slightly sore from his hard ride home, but the heat drained away all the tension and stiffness, leaving behind only the caressing warmth and lapping water.

The lather slipping through his hair felt erotic to Pietro, making its length slick and easier to comb his fingers through, and he sighed as he rubbed Victor’s scalp.

“Damn, ya’ve got magic hands,” Victor rasped.

“Er…who does?”

“Both of you. Mmmmmm…feel like I’m gonna fall asleep.” His blue eyes peered up at them and Pietro scraped back a random puff of foam from his forehead before it could slip into them and sting him. “Where’d ya learn ta do that?”

“Just years of practice,” Jean-Paul murmured, using the pitcher to pour stream after stream of water over his flesh, rinsing away the soap.

“Don’t ya think it’s kinda womanly, doin’ the job that you do?”

Pietro snorted. “We can’t all be royal bodyguards like some people.”

“It’s not womanly, it’s nurturing,” Jean-Paul corrected them both. “Some of us are born with traits that make us good caretakers.”

“Caretakers, huh?”

“Yes,” Jean-Paul sniffed. “Lean forward. Time to rinse.” Pietro didn’t want the shampoo to come to an end, and his entire body was aware of Victor’s responses to their combined caresses, but he didn’t want the burly guard to turn into a prune, either.

“Seemed sometimes like ya were doin’ more than ‘takin’ care of’ the prince, bub.” Jean-Paul’s cheeks turned scarlet.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I saw the way ya looked at ‘im,” Victor accused.

“Come now, lean forward,” he interrupted impatiently. What Victor said stung him.

“He’s a royal. It wouldn’t have worked out. Ya work for him,” Victor continued. But he obediently leaned his head down to his chest. Both men poured pitchers of water through his tresses, and it gleamed like dark, molten gold in the firelight.

“Watch your eyes, Victor,” Pietro admonished, but he yelped as Victor suddenly whipped his head back, letting his hair snap over his head to slap his back. The motion sent a wave of droplets everywhere, splashing both valets.

“Ack!” Jean-Paul jumped back and hissed in annoyance. “Was that necessary?”

“Naw. Fun, though.” Pietro had caught the brunt of it and was holding his hands out from himself as though he’d fallen into a pig trough. He looked thoroughly disgusted. “Now ya’ve had a bath, too.”

“Not the way we would have liked,” Jean-Paul muttered.

“How would ya have liked it, then?” The question took them aback. Jean-Paul licked his lips. Pietro cleared his throat.

“Er…how would I have…?”

“How would ya have liked takin’ a bath?”

“The…um…usual way,” Pietro stammered.

“Like it hot?”

“What?” They were both flaming with embarrassment and desire, and it was getting harder to be objective and finish their chore. Pietro busied himself with getting Victor a towel, while Jean-Paul moved toward the armoire to find him a clean shirt to sleep in.

“Ya didn’t answer my question.”

“Question?”

“How do ya like it?”

The question was absolutely loaded, and both men knew it.

“We’re not the ones in the bathtub, Victor,” Jean-Paul said shakily, trying to compose himself. “Who’s bathing who?”

“That brings up somethin’ else.” Victor rose from the tub in one fluid motion. Both men’s jaws hung open as he revealed himself to their gaze. “Who wants ta finish bathin’ me?”

“You don’t want to catch a chill,” Pietro said, but his eyes were riveted on all of Victor’s rosy, clean naked flesh that gleamed as it dripped back into the tub in melodic trickles.

“Ain’t no point in dryin’ me off til ya finish washin’ me down, is there?”

Jean-Paul gulped. “No.”

“Then get over here and finish.” Jean-Paul dropped the shirt from nerveless fingers while Pietro laid the towel over a chair. Numbly, their feet carried them toward the tub and the source of their torture.

Victor broke the lump of soap into two ragged pieces. He shoved one of them into Jean-Paul’s limp grip and held up the other for Pietro to take from him. “Wash me,” he growled. “Everywhere.”

It was like being handed the moon. No furtive contact, no hiding the effect he had on them, no worrying about whether not things were going too far too fast.

“Victor,” Jean-Paul whispered. “You want…”

“Everything,” he grunted. “Every way I can have it.”

“Everything,” Pietro repeated breathlessly. His hand shook as he caressed Victor’s abdomen, light as a feather with his fingertips. Victor shivered at the sensation, and his cock jerked in response.

“Everywhere,” Jean-Paul murmured, laying his palm over one of Victor’s pectorals and gently squeezing it.

Victor had other plans. He grabbed his Jean-Paul’s hand and slid it roughly down his abdomen, down to his cock. “Grab it.”

“Oh, God…”

“Clean it.” He guided his grip, making him ring it in his fist, which was already slippery from the soap. “Yeah. Oh, yeah…”

“As you wish,” Pietro said, continuing to marvel over his magnificent body and trace its contours. “Victor, you’re a very handsome man. Did you know that?” He brushed his lips over the crest of his shoulder.

“Show me how handsome, then.” Pietro gasped as Victor roughly cupped his nape and leaned down, crushing his mouth in a kiss that was almost brutal. He brought the flavors of rum, sugar and whisky to his lips, and Pietro moaned back into his mouth. He slanted his mouth over his again and again, tongue dominating his until Pietro’s knees grew weak.

Then Victor himself moaned at the wicked things Jean-Paul was doing between his thighs. He had begun soaping him thoroughly, turning the thatch of soft, wiry hair nearly white with foam. Suds dripped from his balls back into the tub in little puffs, and his cock was turgid and slick as Jean-Paul lovingly, thoroughly jerked him off.

“Tell me what feels good. I want to take good care of you, Victor,” he whispered, leaning in to breathe hotly over his nipple. He gave in to the urge he’d had ever since Victor strode dripping into the castle and took it gently between his teeth, laving it and suckling it in concert with the pump of his hand. Victor’s skin tasted like slightly salty ambrosia to him, and he wanted more.

Victor let Pietro up for air and was satisfied to see his glazed, rapt expression. He reached down and groped the valet through his black trousers. He cried out and arched into it, bucking into Victor’s hand. While he did that, he turned to Jean-Paul and took him in an equally savage kiss, making him “MMMPH!” in surprise, before moaning and whimpering into it.

“Strip.” His command was terse, and the look in his eyes was determined. They fumbled with buttons quickly and awkwardly until Victor took matters into his own hands. He stepped out of the tub and peeled Pietro out of his shirt like a banana, scattering buttons everywhere. He was about to protest, but Victor silenced him with another of his rough, satisfying kisses, and he acquiesced, letting him jerk off his belt and rip open the fastenings of his pants. He was shocked at the feel of his own naked flesh, but the chamber was warm from the fire and Victor was sending him up in flames.

Jean-Paul was already half out of his shirt, before Victor turned to him and took the same liberty, kissing and groping him as he worked him out of his remaining clothing. The suds were cooling between his legs, growing clammy, and he was ready to get back into the tub. With company.

“Get in,” he ordered, strong-arming both in. They tripped their way in, splashing water over the brim, but they were no longer worried about getting the floor wet at that point.

From that moment, they just lazed and played. Both men re-soaped and rinsed Victor as the water began to cool, being more than thorough with his slopes of his glutes and the tender crease. He gasped and choked his approval as Pietro tenderly stroked the tiny pucker inside while Jean-Paul continued to pump his cock, kissing and licking the rest of Victor’s body dry.

Victor knocked them off balance, dragging them down into the water. They yelped in surprise, but neither of them objected when he pulled both of them against him, one on either side, and took turns kissing each of them senseless. Jean-Paul gasped as Victor’s thigh thrust up against his manhood, encouraging him to ride it.

He was the first one he dragged onto his lap. Victor’s hands molded his flesh, and he groaned at how smooth Jean-Paul felt. There was a narrow trail of dark hair leading from his navel to his crotch, but the rest of his skin felt like silk and was a burnished gold. Jean-Paul was classically handsome. His hair was black as midnight with wisps of white that fell over his brow. His features were beautifully chiseled, like a sculptor had carved a masterpiece in flesh. Pietro thought the contrast between the guard and his lover was striking to behold, and it was turning him on to watch Victor manhandle him, to hear his voice filled with rapture as he cried out.

“How do ya like it?” Victor asked him again as he bit his neck. Jean-Paul whimpered and threw his head back to give him better access. His beautiful cerulean eyes closed in pleasure as Victor’s hands moved him, grinding them together to create delicious friction.

“Rough. He likes it rough. He makes this sweet little sound when you first take him,” Pietro said hungrily, as though Jean-Paul were sitting on his lap, instead. He ran his palm down his back, kissing his shoulder blade to make him shiver. “And he feels so good, Victor. Whether he’s taking me, or I’m inside him, I can’t get enough of him.” Jean-Paul was touched to hear himself so described. Pietro was affectionate with him, but never effusive; sometimes he was even gruff if he felt embarrassed. But his lips were trailing over his nape, breath misting over him and making the tiny hairs there stand on end.

“Is that right?” Victor ground him more firmly against himself, loving the way his hard, narrow hips felt in his hands. Jean-Paul’s eyes snapped open when Pietro reached down and teased his crease, gradually probing his tiny pucker. It was invitingly snug when he pressed the tip inside. He knelt up on his knees behind Jean-Paul and joined Victor in turning him into jelly.

He’d never been pleasured by two lovers before, and both of them felt different but incredible. His cock throbbed as Victor pumped him, buffeting him against his own member while Pietro’s finger was plunging in and out of his sensitive opening, twisting and dilating him slowly to let him savor the stretch and mild ache.

“Get him ready for me.”

“I want to see you take him.”

“You’re next.” Pietro stifled a whimper of anticipation as he caressed Jean-Paul from the back, finding his nipples and tweaking them. He added a second finger to his ministrations, stretching Jean-Paul more aggressively to prepare him for what he knew would be an uninhibited joining.

He felt his hand nudged away and he came into contact with Victor’s cock as he lifted Jean-Paul from his lap and then sheathed himself inside him in one hard thrust. The heat of the water had relaxed his muscles, making him pliant and ripe for Victor’s penetration. He felt crammed full and invaded by Victor’s considerable length and girth. His voice came out a strangled squeak.

“My God, you’ve killed him,” Pietro muttered, but he stood corrected as Jean-Paul slowly began to move, riding Victor in a slow, easy rhythm.

“Victor,” Jean-Paul whispered. “Oh, Victor…”

Victor was no less affected. It felt like paradise inside him, as Jean-Paul squeezed and milked him, sliding over his flesh like satin sheets. He leaned up and caught his lower lip between his teeth, stealing hot kisses as Jean-Paul began to slam down over him.

“Feel so good,” he rumbled. His hands squeezed Jean-Paul’s ass, fingernails lightly raking his cheeks. Pleasure built inside him, both from the man on his lap softly crying his name and his partner staring at them both with hungry eyes.

Pietro reached between them and grasped Jean-Paul’s hardness and pumped it. His hand was slippery; Victor joined him, and the sensation of two hands groping him, pulling at him heightened the sweet pressure of Victor’s flesh hitting Jean-Paul’s prostate. He came in harsh jerks, eyes and mouth agape on a long, ragged cry. His face was a mask of pain and pleasure and he’d never looked so beautiful to either man.

“Damn it, I wanna see ya like that again, darlin’,” Victor mused. His smile was wicked, but he was still erect. Concern filtered through Jean-Paul’s haze while Pietro sampled some of the slick seed that dribbled over his hand behind him.

“You didn’t…?”

“I ain’t done yet. Neither are you.” He winked back to Pietro. “You, either.”

Neither valet remembered who climbed out of the tub first. Victor watched in amusement as they returned to him with towels and briskly scrubbed him dry, leaving his skin rosy and sensitive to the touch.

They stumbled onto Victor’s bed, huge to accommodate his size. They enveloped Victor, devouring him with hands and mouths, moaning and grunting over how good he tasted.

He laid back against his elbows and watched as they each traced the length of his cock with their tongues. It spasmed and bobbed up, almost kissing them back as they teased it. The sensations made every drop of blood pool in his hard flesh, and he throbbed for release.

“Yeah,” he rasped, “so good. So damned good…” Jean-Paul hummed his approval when he engulfed the head of his cock and sucked while Pietro lapped at his sac. His cock leaked drops of pearly fluid, flavoring his skin with a musky saltiness. Victor’s thighs splayed wide to allow them both easier access. It was the best blowjob he’d had in his life.

It got better when Pietro slicked his finger through the accumulating wetness dripping down his cock and pressed his finger into Victor’s crease. The pressure coupled with the suction was pushing him over the edge. Victor was growing lost in their passion. It was almost too much to process, but he didn’t want them to stop.

Jean-Paul wasn’t expecting Victor to haul him away from his erection by the arm, pulling him up until they flush beside each other.

“Victor…mmmmph….” Jean-Paul didn’t object to the languorous kiss. He looked dazed.

“Take a rest.” He obediently collapsed and caught his breath. Pietro automatically monopolized Victor’s assets, feasting on him, drawing him into his mouth to the hilt. He shunted over him in long, greedy strokes, humming with satisfaction and letting his voice resonate through Victor’s flesh. Victor arched up and gasped at how good it felt. Jean-Paul lazed beside him and suckled his nipple, running his fingertips over his rippling abdomen. Victor’s hand was tangled in Pietro’s silver hair, urging him to move faster.

“Make him ready,” Victor hissed. Jean-Paul kissed him again, nipping his shoulder before he descended to the foot of the bed.

Pietro felt Jean-Paul lift his hips so that he had to pull his knees under himself, nearly on all fours. He never broke his connection with Victor, taking care not to nick him with his teeth. Then his eyes went round with pleasure when he felt something hot and wet pushing at his vulnerable opening. Jean-Paul thrust his tongue inside him as deeply as it would go, stroking his passage and bathing it in heat.

He butted back against his partner while he serviced Victor. Pietro enjoyed it when someone else took control once in a while, and he often trusted Jean-Paul with his pleasure. And Victor…he was so…forceful. He craved the feel of Victor inside him, longed to feel his hardness invading him after seeing Jean-Paul fall apart.

A slender finger probed him, stretching him, thrusting inside and stroking his sweet spot. Pleasure jolted through him, and it changed the tension and angle of his mouth over Victor’s flesh. He was desperately gulping at his leaking fluids and struggling to keep up his fast pace.

“Yes!” Victor hissed. “That’s it! That’s it, darlin’. That’s right…” He was still massaging the back of his head and pushing him down, thrusting up into his mouth. Pietro took every inch eagerly, stroking Victor with the walls of his throat.

Two fingers snaked inside him, scissoring and stretching, twisting inside him. Pietro was wild and desperate for either one of them to claim him. Jean-Paul was the one who tugged him back by the hips. Victor’s cock popped loose from his mouth, and he looked dejected and confused. Victor growled at him, also annoyed.

“He’s ready.”

“Says you,” Pietro accused.

“You’re ready. Because I want to watch him take you.” Victor’s smile was wicked.

“When ya put it that way, then, fine.” Victor hauled him back up toward the headboard and flipped him onto his back.

“Oof!” Then, “Oh…oh…Victor…” Victor bent to taste him briefly and tested his snug sheath with his finger, glad Jean-Paul had gone such a good job priming him. He felt tight but pliant.

“Yer mine,” he growled. He hooked Pietro’s long, tapered legs over his shoulders, lined himself up with his entrance and impaled him. His lover cried out raggedly in what sounded like pain, but he raised his hips to meet him, squeezing his length. “Yeah,” Victor rumbled. “Aw, yeah, darlin’…feel so tight, like yer made for it.”

“He is made for it,” Jean-Paul agreed. “He can’t get enough of it. Especially when you do this.” Jean-Paul groped between them for Pietro’s shaft and stroked it. It pulsed and throbbed in his grip, and he couldn’t help taking a taste.

Pietro’s climax loomed close as Victor pounded into him and while Jean-Paul teased his body, stroking and suckling him and pleasuring all his senses. He longed to be fucked raw, and Victor fit the bill. His thick fingers dug into his thighs as he rutted and slammed into him, and sweat ran down his brow. He looked powerful and sexy like that, and the sight of him doing him such sweet damage pushed him over the edge.

Victor’s seed flooded him, drenching his insides with sweet, slick heat. His tremors and jerks sped Pietro to fulfillment, and Jean-Paul carried him the rest of the way home with one last, hungry bob of his head. Jean-Paul’s eyes rolled shut at the feel of Pietro’s seed flowing over his tongue as he came in several long bursts.

They all lay together like a litter of pups. Both valets stroked Victor and occasionally brushed kisses over his shoulder or collarbone and twined their fingers in his thick hair.

“We should gather up the bath,” Pietro pointed out.

“Do you feel like it?” Jean-Paul retorted.

“No,” he admitted. “I can’t move.”

“Just gonna hafta fill it back up again anyway in the mornin’,” Victor tsked. “Got all dirty again.”

Both valets smiled in the darkness. It was nice to be needed.


FIN.