An Impromptu Lesson (NSFW)

In case you didn’t catch all this when it posted back in January–or in case you missed the last bit when it went out with The Library, volume one–here it is again. And a special welcome to anyone stumbling over here from Red Comes Second…I can almost guarantee you’ll enjoy “August” more for having read about how Red and Bad met Hugh and Truman.

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An Impromptu Lesson is a crossover; it takes place after The New Born Year and between Bad Comes First and Red Comes Second. NSFW.

The mop flogger didn’t feel right. Red didn’t know what the hell was up with Bad, but whatever it was, it was about the stupid mop flogger. Which was dumb for a couple of reasons, most of which added up to Who cares? Can’t we do something else?

“Dammit.” Bad stopped and backed off, and it was probably a good thing, because suddenly they heard voices out in the hallway. “Shit! Red—”

Red was already scrambling for his clothes. Or at least his pants. Bad shoved a jacket at him (way too big) and he pulled it over his shoulders just as the door pushed open and someone called, “Hello?”

“Who’s there?” Bad called back in his most you wanna fuck with me? voice.

“Exactly what we were wondering. Hello.”

Light flooded the room. (Red had never seen Room 111 with the lights on.) Two guys. Probably like Bad’s age, maybe slightly older. Red shifted just a little until Bad was between him and the strangers.

Shit. The flogger. Which Bad was still holding down at his side. Also, Red’s clothes, in a pile on a chair.

“Everything all right in here?” the shorter guy said, looking around like he could see everything.

“Everything’s just fine. No one’s supposed to be in the academic buildings at night.”

“You see why we thought we’d investigate when we heard—sounds.”

Oh my god, sounds, like Red moaning. And being hit with the stupid flogger.

He cringed and bit his lips.

“We’re good. Did you come through this door? It should have been locked.”

“Nope. The other side.” That was the taller guy. “You sure everything is all right? I wouldn’t mind hearing from both of you.”

“Shit. Yeah.” Bad gestured—with the flogger. “Christ, Red. Sorry.”

“’S okay. Hey. I’m Red.”

“Red,” the taller guy said. “Nice to meet you. I’m Truman. This is my husband Hugh.”

“Uh, nice meeting you.” Dammed if he was gonna reach out and shake hands with no shirt on and only Bad’s jacket over his shoulders. “This is Bad. And everything’s really okay. I swear.”

The short guy was looking at him. Like intently. Like whoa.

“So you aren’t little red riding hood, waylaid by the wolf?” the guy asked.

“God, no. No we were just trying this thing—” Red shut up, even though he kind of wanted to talk more. But Bad’s shoulders were all hunched over like there weren’t enough twists in the world to relax him.

“Mop flogger,” the short guy said. “Not great quality, but not the worst I’ve seen.”

WHOA. What?

He held out his hand. Like to Bad. Like, for the flogger.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Bad said, taking a step forward.

The guy smiled and so didn’t look scared. Shit.

“Uh, Bad, don’t get fired, okay? Remember the studio.” And, just to make sure, Red put his hand on Bad’s arm.

“I’m Hugh Reynolds. We’re in town for a conference, but we thought we’d take a nice walk through campus when we heard suspicious sounds. Of course, you’ll have to forgive us for interrupting. It wasn’t immediately clear if the sounds indicated enjoyment or protest.”

Or a little of both, because Bad sucked at this new flogger somehow, even though he was good with his other ones.

“You’ll get better balance with a better flogger, of course,” the guy said.

“Well, I can afford this one, so—”

“Hold out for a better one. Though that one should be able to get you decent thud.” And the guy looked right at Red and, like, raised his eyebrows. “I assume you enjoy thud.”

“Uh—”

“It’s a fuckin’ flogger. I know how to use a flogger.” Bad, still snarling, went tense all over again.

“Hugh, honestly. Why don’t we go?”

“I’m feeling strangely compelled to stay. I run classes, you know. It’s nothing personal. But I can tell by looking at both of you that your experience isn’t matching your expectation.” He held out his hand. Again. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

And his husband, the taller guy, kind of sighed, like this whole weird night was just the usual.

“You aren’t touching him,” Bad said.

“Of course not. But I doubt the bench over there has any such concerns. I really do teach classes. We cover the basics of thud and sting, how to discuss each partner’s likes and dislikes, ways to keep communication open—”

“We don’t have a communication problem.”

The guy smiled again. “You’re trying to muscle through, even though it feels wrong. You don’t want to tell him because you like playing omniscient.”

“Who does that remind me of?” the husband muttered.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but we don’t need any fucking help—”

Red didn’t realize he was cutting into Bad’s arm with his fingernails until Bad broke off and looked over.

“The fuck, Red?”

“Nothing.”

Bad narrowed his eyes.

“Just, he’s right. I could feel that. We’ve only had it a few days, Bad. You don’t have to be perfect the first time we try something.”

“Excuse me, Little Red?”

“Why can’t we just see what he means? Not like you’re gonna get worse.” Red covered his mouth. “I mean—”

Bad spun and nailed him to the wall with a hand against his chest. “You want to talk to this guy?”

“I want you to feel better about the mop flogger. You were so excited for it.” I don’t know how to help. C’mon, Bad.

“Fine.” He turned back, hauling Red tightly against him (like a shield). Which was good, because Red could be his shield. Red could be the guy who calms down Big Bad Charles Campion. That was even hotter than a mop flogger.

“Do you like sting or thud with your impact play, Red?” the short guy asked.

“Sting,” Bad said, or rather grunted. “I was trying to get him the tails, but it throws differently than I’m used to.”

“All thud. You multiply the tails, which multiplies the force, so even if you try to snap it, you still get a hell of a lot more thud than you would with the same throw on a different flogger.” The guy began rolling up his sleeves. “Have you played with thud at all? Paddles, perhaps?”

“I like paddles,” Red said.

“Good. Excellent. Here. Allow me to demonstrate.” He reached out.

Bad handed over the mop flogger.

“Also, of course, the tails are shorter. It takes a slightly different stance, and you balance your own weight differently.”

“I accounted for all that,” Bad snapped.

“Forgive me. I’m used to doing demonstrations for people who have very limited experience.”

“That’s not Bad. Bad’s—not limited.” Red hesitated, then craned his head up to kiss Bad’s cheek.

“Shit, Red. I shoulda stopped.”

“It didn’t feel that bad. I just knew it didn’t feel like you wanted it to.” That was the most distracting thing in a scene. Red never really had it all worked up in his head how it was gonna go, but Bad? Bad probably could direct the whole fucking video in his head, camera angles, moans, and all, before they even took their clothes off. Red always knew when something didn’t feel right to him, and it took him way out of the scene.

Short Guy was watching them again, but this time? He was kind of smiling.

“On second thought—Truman? You feel like learning how to throw a mop flogger tonight?”

“Well. There was that story Will kept telling at New Year’s.”

“Our friend Will sometimes finds deep thud challenging, but he’s enamored with the idea of a flogger like this one.” He gestured to his husband. “Stand right here. You may need to be closer. Give the bench a few practice swings.”

Tall Guy did not hold the flogger with the same ease Short Guy did. With Short Guy, it was a little like watching a baseball player pick up a bat; even if it was a new bat, it was still something he knew exactly how to use. Tall Guy was a lot more tentative.

And Short Guy? Was taking off his shirt.

Oh my fucking god. Bad’s arms tightened around him. Short Guy was fucking cut. Bad looked damn good with his clothes off, all hairy and muscular, but Short Guy? Had a six pack. A six pack, pecs, and a thin line of hair running under his waistband.

Bad bit down hard on Red’s ear.

I can’t help it! Do you SEE him?

Bad saw him. Sure. Bad saw exactly what Red was seeing, and he probably knew Red was fucking salivating, too.

“The number of ways I could do this poorly is overwhelming,” Tall Guy said, and hit the bench. “Hm. You can’t control how they fall exactly.”

“There’s so many of them,” Bad added. “I couldn’t focus on getting all—or even most—of them to do what I expected.”

“Right. Start slowly.” Short Guy moved in beside Tall Guy and reached over his hand. This time he just kind of flopped the tails onto the bench. Then did it again. “Even like that, you should be able to feel it, Truman.”

“I think so.” When Short Guy backed off, Tall Guy kept going. He shifted on his feet, then changed his footing again. “I see what you’re saying. I’m not sure I’d like this sensation.”

“I’m not so sure Will would, either, but now that we’ve done this I’m definitely buying one. You ready for a live canvas?”

“You tell me, Mr Reynolds.”

Short Guy shrugged. “Let’s try it.”

Then he braced, on the table, right where Red had been lying. Oh boy. He looked good from behind, too. Too bad he still had his slacks on.

Bad bit his ear again. Harder.

“You two might move to that side,” Short Guy said.

“Hugh, I usually have more practice before I start hitting you with things.”

“I’ll survive your learning curve. Start slowly.”

Tall Guy started really slowly. Like barely brushing the tails over skin slowly. But he was super focused, kept moving closer, then farther away, then angling his upper body just a little differently.

Then, and only then, did he start actually flogging Short Guy.

It was different than Bad. Red could tell by the sound. And now that Bad was concentrating, Red could feel some of the tension leave his body.

Good. Bad sucked at sucking at things. Red tried to teach him Halo, but he almost broke the controller, so now Bad just ignored Halo when it was on the TV.

Tall Guy kind of went on for a while. Long enough for Short Guy’s back to go a real sweet shade of pink that Red totally envied/wanted to lick/imagined Bad dripping wax on.

Whoa. Gotta chill. Not taking these guys home, though that would be awesome.

Then the pink deepened and Tall Guy just fuckin’ kept going. And Short Guy took all of it, man, like it was fucking nothing. Red wasn’t fooled. That flogging so wasn’t nothing.

“I lost myself for a minute,” Tall Guy said, stopping, and running his hand up his husband’s side. “Sorry, love.”

“You did very well.” Short Guy stood and Red watched all of his muscles, trying not to drool. “I’ll feel that driving home tomorrow.”

Tall Guy looked chagrined. “Hugh—”

“I am in no way complaining. I’ll think about what a remarkable man I married all day long. Not that it usually slips my mind, but this will be a nice reminder.” He pulled Tall Guy down for a smoking kiss. Like someone should be steaming, if not them, at least Red, just from watching.

Bad’s breath at his ear. “You want to play, Little Red?”

“Fuck yes, sir.”

Teeth sunk in again, then released. Bad cleared his throat.

“We should get out of here before Security stops by. But you two are more than welcome to join us back at the house. For flogging. And other things.”

Like fucking me. Please. Oh my god, please.

“You live together?” Short Guy asked as he buttoned up his shirt.

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “I’m afraid we must politely decline. This has been—fun—but we are generally committed to each other and a friend of ours. Flogging demonstrations excepted, naturally. Truman?”

“I agree. It’s semi-official at best, but erring on the side of caution feels right. Though you realize he will be extremely annoyed to discover this story ends here.”

“My sadism takes many forms,” Short Guy said. He grabbed the flogger and played with it a little. “I wouldn’t mind offering you the gift of a better mop flogger, if you wouldn’t be insulted. I understand working with what you can afford, but since I’ll be doing the research for myself anyway, you may as well benefit. I assure you, we will enjoy it and think of the two of you.”

He handed it back to Bad, but looked both of them in the eye.

“Thank you,” Red said quickly.

“Red—”

“You trust him enough to take him back to the house, but not to give him the address?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“Except Red,” Short Guy said. “I wish we’d met at a slightly different moment. I would love to watch the two of you.”

“You can do that right now, if it’s not a breach of your agreement, or whatever.” Bad had talked about this kind of thing before, but they’d never done it.

Red held his breath, fingers digging into Bad’s arm around his chest.

Short Guy turned and Tall Guy smiled.

“We’d be happy to stay for a few more minutes,” Short Guy said.

“You hear that, Little Red? We got ourselves an audience.” Bad’s fingers drummed lightly against his skin, beneath the coat. “What do you think? You want to show them what you like?”

“Yes, sir,” Red murmured, and just before he lowered his eyes he saw Short Guy’s gaze take them in again, like he had when he walked in, like he was seeing everything.

“Clothes off, boy.” But Bad didn’t step away like he would have if they’d been alone. He took his jacket back and held his hands out for Red’s jeans, setting both of them aside.

He assisted. That’s what it was. He assisted Red getting naked in front of these two guys and oh my god, that was intense. So intense. Red reached up for a kiss and Bad gave him everything, practically chewing on his tongue.

I can breathe now. Okay. I’m ready.

Red, trying to pretend two strangers weren’t watching him (waiting for the moment when that would be all he thought about, but it wasn’t now, it wasn’t yet, right now he was too freaked out), bent over the table again, trying to mimic Short Guy.

“You’re my best show boy, Little Red.” Bad’s hand slid over the top of his head, pressing it down. “I’ll take you around, show you off all over the country. Show them how you take a whipping. Would you like that, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” A whisper. Barely.

Bad shifted to caress his chest. “Red.”

“Sorry.”

“We don’t have to—”

“But I want to. I always want to.”

“Some things are best left as fantasy, Red, there’s no—”

“No, dammit!” He hung his head. “Shit. Sorry, Bad.” Oh my god, I just yelled at Bad in front of people. Fuck.

One of the people cleared his throat and Bad’s hand shifted a little, like maybe he looked up. Not Red, though. Red just stood there, wishing he could get his shit together.

“I’ve never had quite this experience, but if you were willing to trust Hugh with the flogger, I have an idea.” That was Tall Guy, whose voice didn’t seem quite as much like he was making a joke and you just didn’t get it.

“Up, Little Red.” Bad took him in, engulfed him, arms wrapping around him, which made him feel less naked than he had with clothes on. He pressed his eyes into Bad’s shoulder and inhaled him.

“If you stand there, with your arms around him, keeping him steady, Hugh can use the flogger at whatever degree of intensity you want. I can vouch for how different—and, to me, better—a flogging is taken that way, in the arms of someone you love. And trust.”

Huh.

“Of course, you’d have to trust Hugh.”

Bad took a breath Red felt through layers of clothes. “You want that, boy? You want me to hold you down while some stranger with a whip goes at you? Nowhere to run, if I’m holding you, Red. You’ll just take it till he’s done.”

Oh please. Please. “Yes, sir.”

But that wasn’t gonna do it, and Red wasn’t surprised when Bad tugged on his hair, pulling his head back. The way Bad stared at him, eyes flipping back and forth between his eyes, forehead with just the one line in it that meant he was concentrating real damn hard.

“Take a few deep fuckin’ breaths, Red.” And he waited.

Red did as ordered, letting it soothe him, letting this be like yoga when he got something right and Bad was sweetly proud.

“I’m not sure this guy’s good enough to flog you. You want to take the chance he fucking sucks?”

“If he does, you’ll stop him.”

“Yeah. If he’s anything like as bad as I am with it, I’ll stop him.”

“Hey.” Red reached up for another kiss. “I like the idea of you holding me, Bad. I don’t really care who’s on the other side.”

“Okay. All right, boy. I don’t really get how this is gonna work, but all right.”

Bad pulled him in tighter for a second, then released him. “So. How do we stand?”

It was a little like an awkward high school slow dance out of a teen movie. Bad stood tall, and Red kinda leaned into him, grounded by Bad’s arms, which were folded over his shoulders, locking him in place. Stroking him wherever fingers happened to fall, which was, like, maybe the greatest thing ever.

He forgot a little about hot, cut Short Guy, who was now standing behind him.

“Give him a little tease, Red. Stick out that cute bubble butt so he knows what he’s missing.”

Red did it, trying not to think too hard, trying not to think about how fucking sexy Short Guy was without his shirt on.

“Go on, boy, wiggle it a little.” And Bad untangled a hand to slap his ass.

Burying his eyes even harder against Bad, Red wiggled, and behind him Short Guy made a sound, a little laugh, maybe?

“Very nice,” he said, voice deeper than it had been before. “I’ll start slowly. How high do you want me to take him?”

And oh my shit, two men negotiating his flogging? Red thought he actually might purr.

“Not too high,” Bad was saying. “I just want him to feel what it’s like. We can go deeper into it later.”

But no. Not now. Not after watching Short Guy. Red couldn’t think of how to politely interrupt a conversation that he had no role in (oh, wait, except I’m the “live canvas”).

“What is it, Red? You went all stiff.”

Did he dare fucking do this? What was the worst that could happen? The guy wasn’t gonna kill him. Especially not with Bad standing there. And Bad, Bad would be proud of him. If he pulled it off.

Red inhaled and tried to be brave. “I want what he took.” He lifted his head and when he turned, Short Guy was a little too far back for him to see clearly, so he ended up looking at Tall Guy instead. “What you gave him, a few minutes ago. I want that.”

“Really?” Tall Guy asked. “Only it would be better, and more intense, because Hugh is a better hand with a flogger.”

“That looked good.” And Bad can kiss it better—or hurt it more—later.

Short Guy came around, and because he was short and Red was still leaning over, they were looking each other right in the eye. “I was specifically not reacting, Red. That was a serious flogging.”

“Yeah. I know. And you took it like it was feathers.”

The guy smiled, just a little. “I was trying to impress you.”

“Well, yeah, consider me impressed. I can take it.”

“I don’t doubt that you can take it, but can your boyfriend?”

Ha ha. Red rolled his eyes.

“Hugh’s going to need to be able to touch,” Tall Guy said. “He can’t take you that deep without touching.”

“I might be able to,” Short Guy said to his husband.

“You really can’t, love.”

“Hm.” Short Guy’s lips tipped up at the ends, looking straight at Red, then his eyes shifted to Bad. “Permission to touch your boy, sir?”

Oh my fucking GOD. Bad’s chest rumbled and Red knew exactly the fucking conspiratorial expression on his face when he said, “You can do whatever you want to my boy, as long as you leave me enough pieces to reassemble later.”

“Excellent. How worried are we about the lights? I notice the windows are higher than eye level and we’re on a hill.”

“No one can see in without binoculars, and I’m not sure where they’d stand. But eventually Campus Safety will do a round up here and see the lights. I’ll hear the truck before they come inside. Maybe another twenty minutes, and be ready to leave by the north entrance and pretend you’re just taking a walk.”

Red had no idea who was working tonight, but this whole thing could go bad for Bad pretty fucking fast. “Should we—”

“No. I want you to have your beating, Little Red. He can take it, uh, Hugh. Kid likes having his balls beat. He can take whatever you give him with that flogger.”

“Ah.” And the guy looked back at Red. “You would so enjoy our friend Will. Slow, steady breaths, keep oxygen going to your blood.”

Yes, sir. Red nodded.

“You sure your boyfriend’s not gonna kick my ass for hurting you?”

Red didn’t bother replying, already taking breaths, already finding the place where his skin started to tingle in anticipation. And Short Guy smiled again, differently, and reached out to touch his forehead right at his temple.

“Oh, good boy, Red. Okay. How do you stop the scene if you need to?”

“I’ll stop the scene if he needs it to stop,” Bad said.

But Short Guy didn’t move, still right there in front of his face.

“‘Orange.’ But Bad’ll stop it way before I’ll safeword.”

“Good to know. Find your position again and we’ll begin.”

This time he didn’t get anything from Bad, but he stuck his butt out anyway, carefully keeping his back straight and flat. Short Guy didn’t make him wait. He started by dragging the tails up and down, letting Red get used to it, letting it soothe him.

Bad’s arms tightened, which is how Red knew the first strike was coming.

But it didn’t, not really. The tails fell, and yeah, that was something. They were heavier, even though it was just leather, something-something force and mass, or whatever. They kept coming, and he couldn’t track when they started building, when Short Guy started using more than gravity and motion, but everything began to deepen, as if the flogger was a hammer and Red was the spike.

“Don’t curve your back,” Bad murmured in his ear.

Short Guy slowed down and stopped, which wasn’t nearly enough. Red would have said that, too, if he hadn’t felt a hand on his back.

“You do like thud. How delightful for both of you. I judge your enjoyment will suffer if I meet your request, Red.”

“He’ll be mad if you don’t.” Bad snaked one hand into Red’s hair. “This became about something more than enjoyment when you took your shirt off and bent over the table, Hugh.”

The hand on his back—lightly trailing up and down his spine—faltered, then resumed. “Fair point. And you’re right. This is not my favorite activity by any stretch, at least, not on the far side of the lash. Please don’t hesitate to stop me.”

“I won’t.”

“Very well. Truman?”

“Later.”

“Thank you.”

Red didn’t know what that meant, and didn’t care, because ohgod, when Short Guy—Hugh—started up again, he stopped holding back.

This hurt, yeah, and he was jumpy as fuck under Bad’s arms, trying damn hard to keep his breaths regular, then giving up. Red tried to conjure a picture in his head of Short Guy taking all of it without a sound, and yeah, okay, that was inspiring, but fuck, could anyone’s pain threshold really be that goddamn high?

It was endless. He’d thought Bad’s earlier attempt had been endless, but this was the kind of endless you didn’t think, you knew, you knew it would go on forever and there was no way out.

He didn’t beg, though. Fuck that. Also, begging is harder when you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, so that was a perk. Or something.

When there were no places in Red’s body that didn’t register pain, no places he could still feel, anyway, it stopped. And Bad engulfed him again, while he sobbed desperately into his T-shirt.

“Forgive me,” Short Guy said, sounding—a hell of a lot more broken than he’d been after his flogging.

“No need. Red, tell the man you’re okay.”

He’d do that, yeah, sure, just the second he could breathe again.

“If you two ever come up to the Bay Area, please give us a call.” That was Tall Guy. “We’ll take you out to dinner. It’s the very least we can do after you shared this scene with us.”

“Thanks for the lesson,” Bad replied.

Red lifted his head, still sniffling, trying not to appear like a little kid. “Sorry. That was—that was fucking hard. Oh my god.” Bad would be smirking if he reduced Red to that kind of breakdown, but Short Guy was leaning on his husband like he was the one who needed support. “How did you do that? I mean, not—not with me, with him?”

Short Guy took a couple of deep breaths. “Years of practice in shutting down sensation. Which I don’t recommend, though it occasionally has its uses. I apologize for giving you an unrealistic idea of how that would feel.”

“You didn’t. I knew it’d be bad. But man. Knowing and knowing are two different things. Anyway, thanks.”

“You are very welcome. And Truman was serious about us taking you to dinner.”

Red stayed where he was, pressed against Bad’s body, while they exchanged business cards with cell phone numbers on them. (Bad listed Red’s phone number right below his on the back of his Campus Safety card, and something about that made Red feel strange and buoyant, despite the burn on his back and ass.)

He and Bad heard the truck at the same time.

“Hell. We better get the fuck out of here. Red—”

His clothes, shit! He pulled his pants back on and Bad grabbed everything else.

“Why don’t we distract them?” Tall Guy said. “After all, we’re just visitors here, exploring a building we found open. They can hardly take action against us.”

“You don’t need to—”

“We’d be happy to do that. Hugh?”

“Agreed. Thank you both, again. And we apologize for interrupting earlier.”

Before Red could say anything else—like “Thanks for interrupting earlier”—they were down the hall, where he could sight through the doors at the other end and see someone (who wasn’t Sue, anyway) getting out of the Campus Safety truck.

“Hell. Move your ass, Red. I’m glad we parked at the big house.”

Red was, too. Since the whole department knew Bad’s truck.

They were out through the darkened north entrance and down the path, hightailing it toward the orange grove at the edge of campus, and the house right on the corner beside it.

“That could’ve gone pretty bad for us,” Red managed to say as he pulled his shirt over his head. “We should maybe not play on campus, Bad.”

“Is that what you’re taking away from tonight, Red? Fuck. I was just thinking about how fucking lucky it was a couple of nosy bastards ran into us or you’d still be taking my shitty flogging.”

Which is when both of them worked it out, at the same time.

“Oh shit!” Red stopped in the middle of the path.

“No way we’re going back for it. C’mon.”

Christ. Who the hell was gonna find it? And what were they gonna think?

And great, now that Bad maybe knew how to use the stupid mop flogger, it was gone.

“This has been a weird fucking night,” Red said, climbing gratefully into the truck. He hissed and decided on second thought not to lean back against the seat.

“Sure has. Pull out your cock, boy. If you can hold out all the way home, I’ll let you choose what we watch on Netflix tonight.”

“And if I can’t?” He was already unzipping.

“Swamp Loggers, season two.”

“Oh my god. No fucking way, Bad.”

“We’ll see. In fact, I think we’ll take the scenic route home.”

“What the—are we getting on the fuckin’ freeway? That’s cheating!”

“Home by way of a short driving tour of Palm Springs, me edging you the whole fucking way. Yeah. This is a good night. Lean back, Red. And be happy you’ve got a shirt between you and that scratchy upholstery.”

There was no fucking way he’d make it to Palm Springs and back without coming. Bad was such a fucking asshole. Red began to gnaw on his lower lip.

“I said, lean back.”

“You’re going to hell for cheating. You know that, right?”

“Hand me the lotion.”

“Oh my god.” Red handed him the lotion and surrendered to his fate.

* * *

Five days later, two things happened.

The first was a text from Bad mid-morning, when Red was just getting ready to go to work. Story going around about a couple of homos staging Fifty Shades in Arts and Letters Saturday.

Red texted back: Did they really say “homos”?

The second happened later that evening, when they got a package.

“I’m opening it.”

“We don’t know what it is.”

“Well, it’s addressed to you, so how bad could it be?”

“It’s addressed to Bad Campion.”

“Like I said.”

“I don’t write ‘Bad’ as my shipping address, Red.”

“Well obviously you didn’t order it, or you’d know what it is. Give me your knife.”

Bad grudgingly handed over his knife, then stood half-turned away, like he’d rather be all the way turned away, but he didn’t dare leave Red’s side.

Crazy paranoid boyfriend is crazy paranoid and kinda cute.

Red slit the box open and there it was. A gorgeous new mop flogger.

“Oh my fucking god. Bad.” Red was busy caressing the falls, then the carved wooden handle, then the falls again.

“There’s a note. Huh.”

“What’s it say?” Excuse me while I fondle our new toy.

“It says, ‘Good for the sensual and the thuddy. Enjoy it with our thanks. Hugh and Truman.’”

“Damn. I mean, Bad, what the hell does something like this cost?”

“I don’t know. Two hundred bucks maybe? Two-fifty? More than I have, anyway. Shit, Red.” Bad raised his eyebrows. “How you healing up?”

“I’m so healed. So totally healed. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“The only thing it needs is your pink skin, boy. Go get ready for me.”

Sure. Yeah. Definitely. But Red paused, right at the hallway, and glanced back.

Now Bad was the one touching the flogger, one hand still holding the note. Ha. If those guys didn’t live so far away, Red thought Bad might’ve actually made a friend.

Time to plan a trip north.

Red undressed, already brainstorming Red and Bad’s Great Yoga Tour of California, complete with a kink break in the Bay Area. Oh yeah. Bad better practice with the mop flogger, because this was gonna be epic.

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Addendums one and two, scribbled at the request of blog commenters. The first part of this was posted on the blog, and the second part was not. Addendum one is for Vicky and Nadine. Addendum two (because Will doesn’t miss everything…) is for Brittany and Marie. NSFW.

Truman waited until Hugh was in the shower back at the hotel. Then he called Will.

“Please tell me you’re available for a phone call in fifteen minutes or so.”

“Sure. We’re just fucking around rearranging the living room again.”

“In private, Will.”

A pause, while Will left the rest of his housemates (Truman could hear Adam say something and Molly laugh).

“What happened?”

“I won’t know until I listen to him tell you the story. He’s in the shower now, but he’ll call you when he’s out.”

“’Course. He okay?”

I won’t know until I listen to him tell you the story. “He’ll be just fine, Will. Wait until you hear about our evening.”

“Aw, Tru, not fair!”

“Love you.”

“You too. I’ll be here.”

Yes, he would be. Phone in his lap, ringer and vibrate activated, ready to see Hugh’s name light up the screen.

“Speak to you soon.”

They hung up and Truman moved around the room, plugging in phone chargers and unpacking his essentials. He was reading when Hugh came out of the shower, prepared for moodiness and that sullen edge that still made him want to throttle his husband.

Instead, he got calm acceptance.

“I’m all right,” Hugh said, and sat down. “I will be all right.”

Truman held out his phone. “Talk to Will.” And braced for the convincing he had no doubt would follow.

Hugh opened the phone and hit speed dial three, which was Will on both of their phones. He waited for Will to answer and said, “It’s me.”

The story Hugh told Will was factual with just enough detail to provide a tease, and Truman smiled when Will’s voice rose in protest. He did not explain that Truman had lost himself to throwing the flogger (and gone much, much too far), or that Red had insisted he receive the same.

And yet, Hugh didn’t have to go into all that, because somehow Will knew what was underlying this particular darkness without being told.

“Yes, I realized that in the shower. No, in the moment I thought he reminded me of you, that I was reacting to their dynamic, but it wasn’t—” A pause while Hugh closed his eyes. “Yes, Will. I haven’t yet, but I will. I stepped out of the shower and he handed me a phone, I wasn’t avoiding anything.” Hugh sighed. “I wish you were, too.”

Truman sat back, satisfied now, and listen to them talk, trying to pick out the slightly altered cadences and tones in Hugh’s voice that indicated it was Will with whom he was speaking. Truman would know his Will-voice anywhere. He knew it when he was barely awake (Will called Hugh, knowing he’d be awake earlier), and he knew it in hushed tones when Hugh answered in public.

Right now, he sounded rueful, amused, and just edged enough to make Truman grateful he’d followed this particular instinct.

“No, it didn’t seem appropriate to record the evening, Will, you’ll have to use your imagination. Perhaps you can ask Truman to find a couple on Xtube who resemble them for your edification. No. Hush, Will. Yes. Of course.” Pause, and Truman inhaled, waiting. “Yes, I love you too. Here he is.”

He took the phone, kissing Hugh’s cheek as he did. “William.”

“Was the guy really like Ethan?”

How would I know? But Will didn’t know any more than he did. Both of them had formed a shadow impression of one particular ex of Hugh’s, and he couldn’t say that Bad either did or did not resemble him.

“I can’t imagine so, judging by how the evening went, but it’s hard to say.”

Hugh moved around the room, righting the things he needed to have out, carefully repacking anything he would not use between now and when they left in the morning.

“Shit, well, I don’t know, I guess give him a kiss for me and I’ll maybe see you when you get home.”

The idea that Will might just drop by—now, for the first time, possible—filled Truman with a deep well of joy.

“I’ll keep you posted about our progress up the coast.”

“Cool. Love you, Tru.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

“‘Night. Again.”

Truman pictured Will’s smile and hung up.

“This is not something I feel the need to process,” Hugh said, rummaging in his suitcase.

“Because it doesn’t bother you, or because you’d rather ruminate on it all night in the privacy of your own head?”

“Because my feelings are old and irrational and do not bear any practical application to today.”

“All right, love.” Truman stood and began to undress. “I’ll just take my shower then.”

“Fine.” Not a petulant “fine”, a reserved, wait-to-break-down-until-you’re-asleep “fine”.

Truman showered, pulled on comfortable clothes, and climbed into bed. He reached for his book, which he’d left on the side table, but Hugh touched his wrist.

“Do you want to see your handiwork?”

No. And I’m so sorry, my love. But Hugh wouldn’t accept.

“I want you to see it,” Hugh admitted, voice low and even. “I want you to see the marks you leave, Truman.”

“Show me.”

Hugh’s back looked angry, splotched, red and pink and in some places almost shadowed, a brushing of purple.

“Oh. Hugh, I can’t believe I did this to you. You should have stopped me.”

“Stopped you? I couldn’t believe you kept going. I had to see where it would end.”

“But I—I didn’t mean anything like this. I was just trying to figure out how to get it right.”

“I know. And you did.” Hugh did not pull his shirt back on, just slid under the blankets on his side. “It felt nothing like the way it used to feel when it was other people. And yet I’m unable to stop picturing his skin.”

“You might have stopped.”

“Safeworded out of flogging a young man who clearly enjoys a flogging? On what grounds?”

Truman mirrored his position and smiled, with all the love and gentleness he could muster. “You tell me, Mr Reynolds. Under what circumstances would I be permitted to stop a scene like that if it was the three of us playing?”

“That’s different.”

“Because it’s okay for me to have limits, but not the great Hugh Reynolds?”

“I have plenty of limits, Truman. It was different because I didn’t want to prematurely end a scene that meant something to him. Red. The young man.”

Repetition of “the young man”, though Truman wasn’t sure if there was significance in the phrase itself.

“Will asked me if Bad was anything like Ethan.”

“I know. He wasn’t entirely off-base, though Bad was not anything like Ethan. Ethan would have gagged me and handed me over, all the more delighted if my fear wasn’t balanced out by excitement. He walked that line very, very well. Bad was altogether something else.”

“Bad wouldn’t have let you near his boy if you hadn’t bent over the table and taken a beating,” Truman said.

“Yes. I proved myself to him.”

“And to Red. I’d love to see he and Will meet.”

“I’d love to see Will take him in hand. For a spanking, maybe.”

Not a thought that had occurred to Truman (though now that it had he didn’t like his chances of banishing it). “What did Will think you were avoiding?”

“You, of course.” Hugh’s eyes roamed the room, never resting anywhere longer than a few moments. “But I’m not.”

At least, not deliberately. “Is your battery charged?”

“I have a fresh battery in the e-reader just in case I burn through the battery on my phone.”

“Good. I apologize in advance for falling asleep.”

“Never. One of us has to drive in the morning. We can switch off after I’ve had enough coffee to see the road.”

Truman settled in beside his husband, allowing his mind to drift. The lights were off and the curtains pulled, dense fabric and lining, letting in only a wobbly line of light along the bottom. Hugh’s phone, set to its lowest, darkest setting, then tweaked with some app that changed the frequency of the light to dim it further, barely cast a glow.

He dozed some, not quite losing awareness of the stiff hotel sheets, or the rise and fall of Hugh’s chest. It might not be tonight. It might be tomorrow, during their drive. It might even happen tomorrow night, nestled in a bed that smelled like home. He didn’t know, and although he would hold the understanding of this particular open loop until it was closed, Truman rarely worried anymore about Hugh’s inclination to bury the things that disturbed him. They always surfaced eventually.

“I didn’t feel it,” Hugh said, voice parting darkness. “I felt it, but I also felt detached from it. I haven’t felt that way in a long time and it came so easily to me.”

Truman opened his eyes and kept his breathing even.

“And I watched him struggle, knowing he wouldn’t safeword, and I did almost stop. Not because I thought he needed it, or I would have, but because it was too disturbing to me to know where he was in his head. To remember that place.” Hugh paused. “Of course, it’s all projection. That was very much what Red wanted, and he felt entirely safe within it.”

Here, a shiny stone never before turned over between them. Truman extended one hand to splay across Hugh’s stomach.

“Nick has always said that I am, at heart, a switch.” Tired amusement in his tone now.

“What am I?”

“I honestly have no idea. You take on whatever either of us need from you at any given moment, Truman.”

“How is that different than being a switch?”

“The role doesn’t turn you on. Being with us turns you on.”

He turned it over in his sleep-fogged brain, trying to understand. “Yes. But watching you and them turned me on, as well.”

“If Will had been here, he would have imagined being in Red’s place. If I had seen the scene as it was before we entered, I would have imagined being in Bad’s.” Hugh’s hand slid into place over Truman’s, fingers lacing through his. “What did you imagine?”

“I thought Will would find it hard to take, in Red’s position. I suppose I thought about the three of us doing that, but mostly I just enjoyed watching your body. You are a very stunning man, my husband.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be able to sleep, love?”

“No. Not quite yet. Still muddling through something. I suppose it’s a desire to reclaim that sensation. It’s so good when you get it right, and I skipped over any ability to enjoy it to go straight to numbness. I wish I hadn’t done that.”

“It was unexpected. And I pushed it much too far.”

“But that’s not why I stopped feeling it. I stopped feeling it the second it began.” Hugh shifted, hand not leaving Turman’s. “Maybe because we had an audience, though it didn’t bother me. And I did want to impress him.”

“Because he reminded you of Will?”

“Because he reminded me of myself, searching for a big strong man to guide me.”

Truman breathed, trying very hard to put the pieces together. “But what you got was Ethan.”

“Truman, no. No. Ethan was never even close.” Hugh tugged their hands to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on Truman’s palm. “What I got was you.”

I’m not a big, strong man. And I certainly know nothing about guidance. Not in this context.

“You have no idea, do you? You are my moral compass, Truman. You have been since we met. And I wish I’d let myself feel that flogging because you’re the only man I’d trust in that position, or to take me that far down.”

Completely at sea, utterly lost, Truman sat up. “What are you saying?”

“I envied him. Red. I envied him the bliss of his release. They’re probably at home right now, curled in each other’s arms, and he knows he stretched himself today, he can go to sleep with the understanding that he knows himself better now, in light of it.”

The lights creeping in under the curtains barely gleamed off Hugh’s eyes, but Truman could watch, could see that they still roamed the room, never resting.

“Do you want to submit to me, love?” he asked, wishing he could take a timeout, phone Will, clarify his comprehension.

“I wouldn’t have said that, no. But my…hunger, for that place, has certainly been engaged by the scene earlier.”

Hunger. Truman propped himself up with pillows. “Come here.”

“There’s no need—”

“—For you to lie awake all night, Hugh. Come here.”

He pressed against Truman’s side, laying his head down over his heart, smoothing the folds and creases of his shirt.

Did Hugh feel his heart pounding? He must.

Truman ran light fingertips up Hugh’s back, barely touching. “Does it hurt?”

“I feel it.”

“But does it hurt?”

“Some parts, yes.”

What had he said, back in that room with Red? Years of practice in shutting down sensation. “Can you be here with me and not shut down, my love?”

“I’m not sure.”

Truman allowed his hand to rest on the hot skin of Hugh’s back, high up, just below his shoulder. He remembered that being a particularly bright spot on the reddened map Truman could still picture. “Does this hurt?” he murmured, denting skin with his fingertips.

Deep breaths pushed back. “Yes.”

He had no idea how far to take it, slowly curving his fingers so Hugh would feel his nails. “And this?”

“Yes.” Slow, steady breaths, Hugh managing pain, controlling his responses.

Hugh seemed always to know how far was too far; Truman had often thought that in addition to the usual five or six senses, Hugh appeared to have remote access to the senses of others. He could take Will to the edges over and over again, no matter what the did, no matter what mood they were in. Truman had no such superpower, but he bit down on his tongue and dragged his nails over Hugh’s back, all the way down to his waistband, a scratch that seemed to take forever.

“Breathe,” he whispered, when Hugh froze.

One ragged breath, then another, and as he drew the third, Truman did it again, just as slowly, and kept scratching all the way back up.

Hugh shifted, turning his face into Truman’s chest, not pulling away. If anything his back was now presented more fully.

Oh, love. Love. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Can you feel it?”

“I can feel it.”

“Good.”

He had no idea how long it went on, or how many times he dragged his nails across Hugh’s skin, sometimes twisting them, sometimes holding his hand in one place and digging in, as if Hugh’s back was a plot of land and the only tools he had to turn it over were his fingers. He reminded Hugh to breathe when he seemed to be holding his breath, but otherwise they were both quiet, only the shifting of sheets and skin inside their hotel room, inside the anonymous dark of this temporary place, this transitory moment.

Hugh’s fists clawed in his shirt and this time Truman didn’t stop moving, didn’t end the sensation. He kept scratching, slowly, deeply, up and down, up and down, until Hugh was breathing harshly, muscles tense, energy coiled as if he might leap up at any second.

This time when Truman stopped scratching, Hugh exhaled, as if expelling all the air in his lungs.

“Enough. That’s enough.”

Which was what Truman had been waiting to hear, so he didn’t know exactly what led him to do it again, just as long, just as deep, just as slow.

“We’re done,” he said, and Hugh collapsed onto him, maybe sobbing, maybe laughing, maybe some combination of both.

“God, Truman, you—” Hot kisses pressed to his neck. “Will is never going to forgive us for doing that without him.”

Truman wanted to quip something back about doing it again, but he wasn’t sure he could handle doing it again.

“It’s all right. Hell, it’s better than all right. I’m on fire.” In more ways than one, apparently. Hugh moved, balancing over him, rutting against him. “Truman, say something.”

“You want to have sex after that?”

Hugh, teeth pale, eyes glittering. “You kept going when I told you it was enough.”

“It’s what you would have done,” Truman said, trying not to sound defensive.

“Yeah. Yes, it is.” In some move that was two parts upper body strength and one part coordination, Hugh shucked his pants and shoved down Truman’s to mid-thigh. “Oh my god, my back is in fucking ribbons. I felt every centimeter of that.” He took both of them in his hand, no lube, rough and dry.

“Shouldn’t we at least—”

“No. We should come, right now. Do it again, Truman. Scratch me again.”

“Hugh—”

“Please. Please do this.”

And Hugh was the one in some kind of extended push-up position, holding himself up with one arm while he jacked both of them together with his other. Hard to deny a man like that.

Truman reached up, with both hands, scratching parallel lines down Hugh’s back.

“God, god, Truman—”

He’d never, in the years they’d been together, seen Hugh come so fast. That alone might have been almost enough for Truman, but coupled with the searing, desperate kiss, he gave in, holding on to Hugh now for stability as he came, letting Hugh have his breaths, his moans, his surrender to this thing he hardly understood.

“You are the hottest man alive,” Hugh whispered into his ear, both of them still panting.

“Oh shut up.”

“Not joking. I love you, Truman Jennings. Please don’t ever stop pushing me.”

“I won’t. I won’t, love, not ever.”

Hugh needn’t have worried about his batteries. He fell asleep without even turning his phone back on, and Truman held him, careful now about his back, already rehearsing how he’d tease Hugh for falling asleep without cleaning them up.

* * *

Will fell asleep. He didn’t mean to. He was sitting in Hugh’s chair in the sitting room, and his phone was still in his lap. Not that he’d been totally obsessed with the boyfriends coming home or anything. That would be silly.

He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but his heart thudded harder when he heard their voices, suddenly not so sure about this brilliant plan to wait up for them as a surprise. (Or, okay, fall asleep waiting for them, anyway.)

“Ah. Will.”

He blinked up at Hugh, who was towering over him, and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Should I not have—”

“Truman?” Hugh asked. “Do we object to Will’s presence?”

“Never.”

Hugh smiled and offered a hand. “You heard the man. Come here.”

And oh, just fuck everything, Hugh pulled him in and engulfed him as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. He hugged just as hard in return and Hugh hissed but didn’t pull back.

“Are you—”

“Just wait until you see what he did to me. Oh, Will.”

“He—Truman?” Truman stood at the bottom of the stairs with a suitcase in one hand, watching them with the sweetest smile. “The, uh, flogger? Because I’m already pissed about that, you know.”

“Will,” Hugh murmured into his ear. “Wait until you see what he did.”

“Anytime, you fucking tease.”

“Upstairs, both of you.”

And yeah, okay, this was good. This was a good idea, using his shiny new key, letting himself in, sitting in Hugh’s chair. It had to be a good idea because Truman was ahead of him and Hugh was behind him and all three of them were going up to their bedroom, so obviously everything else was just cake.

“Will, bed,” Truman said, putting his suitcase down and turning. “Hugh—you are such a show off.”

Will turned, too, and Hugh was standing there, unbuttoning his shirt, like hey that’s just what you do when you walk in from a trip, before you pee or wash your hands or put away all the stuff in your bags. You take off your clothes, right, that’s totally normal. It’s totally normal to face the doorway and shrug out of your—

“Oh my fucking god.” No way. No way Truman did that. Truman was kind of into flogging Will, for like five minutes, until he started seeing the marks and wanted to kiss him instead. There was no goddamn way he’d done that to Hugh’s back.

Truman had said Will, bed like he was in charge, but now Will’s legs were bouncing up and down because fuck everything, he wanted to run up and look closer. Don’t be a spaz, Willie. He looked at Truman, who was watching him, maybe a little carefully now.

“Tru? You okay?” In Will’s peripheral vision, Hugh went still, even though all he could see was Hugh’s back.

“I was worried for a moment that you’d be—upset.”

“Upset you’re making me stay on the bed, yeah. Can you at least make him come closer so I can see it better?”

“Hugh, undress and lie down.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, what the hell is happening and can I bottle it so I can have it all the time? Will loved naked Hugh. But naked, submissive Hugh was something else, something that made him want to jump him and literally get off on his marks.

“Go on, Will. Inspect.”

Jesus. This was insane. This was unreal. Hugh’s back looked like the kind of thing Will saw in the mirror after a particularly intense scene, when he knew he’d get to keep looking at it for a few more days, keep feeling it for a few more days. But also those were usually the scenes he hated in the moment because they felt endless, even though he knew that Hugh and Moll always made it so good by the end that he wanted to do it all over again.

“How—what the hell—this isn’t all the mop flogger.” He glanced up at Truman, hardly breathing. “Can I touch?”

“Yes, love. Not only touch.”

Yeah. Will leaned over and kissed Hugh’s spine, then laid his cheek against the reddest, most fucked up part of his back. “Scratch marks,” he said, watching Truman watch him. “You flogged him and you scratched the marks. Fuck me, Truman.”

“I almost called you for moral support.”

“Yeah. I’d’ve been like, ‘Put me on speaker so I can hear it.’”

“Not much to hear. You know how stoic he is.”

“Uh huh.” Will closed his eyes and pressed his face into Hugh, turning it, painting himself with Hugh’s busted up skin. “Oh my god, were you dying? That’s a lot of scratches, Mr Reynolds.”

“It was challenging to remain in position,” Hugh said. “God, Will, I forget sometimes. I forget how much you have to trust me, how much you have to believe in me to pull any of this off.”

“Mm.” Will kissed his back more. “Truman fucked you up, oh my god, I kind of want to take care of you right now.”

Hugh reached back and squeezed his arm. “I would not turn it down. You should have seen him, Will. Truman standing there with a flogger, sweating, face red. So hot.”

“God, yes.” This time Will licked a patch of scratch marks and Hugh hissed again. “I always think I’d never want to be dominant with you, like ever, but sometimes when you go into that place it makes me want to—” But he probably couldn’t put words to it, not out loud.

Truman hummed, coming around behind Will, squeezing his shoulders. “The scene with Red was very hard, Will. You would like him, I think, but his taste for pain might exceed yours.”

“Almost certainly,” Hugh agreed. “Though you would be well-matched in intensity.”

“See, now it feels like a competition. You saying this guy can take more than me, Truman?”

“No, love.”

Fuck, a back rub. Will leaned over Hugh’s back and closed his eyes, letting Truman’s fingers dictate exactly what he felt, and where.

“But I also think that part of his enjoyment was Bad’s enjoyment, and that Hugh does not get off on taking you quite that far in terms of sheer physical sensation.”

Will kissed the back of Hugh’s neck. “Yeah?”

“That’s very true. Though perhaps in a scene like that one, if someone else was causing the sensation and I was holding you up. We have defaulted to Truman taking that role, but I can’t deny that watching them made me wonder—or at least made me curious—about how it would feel.”

“You hold me up all the time,” Will said, still reaching for whatever it was they were describing.

“Yet not quite like this. In any event, I doubt we’ll ever see them again.”

“Mm, perhaps. I’ll make an effort to keep in touch, I think, just in case. I liked them.”

“I want to like them, too!” Truman dug in a little harder and Will moaned. “Oh god. Truman, you’re killing me.”

“You should let him use a mop flogger on you. God, Will, it was fucking transcendent.” Hugh flipped over, remaining beneath Will somehow, and rubbed his back against the bed.

Which: Oh fuck me.

“Kiss Hugh,” Truman whispered.

And he could have made light of it. He could have said Aw, do I have to? Or No, really, order me around s’more. But instead it seemed way more important to reach down, carefully remove Hugh’s glasses, carefully set them on the side table.

“Sometimes I wanna hold you up, too, you know,” he said, looking down.

“You do. All the time.”

Will leaned down for a kiss and Truman shifted, behind them, trailing a hand down Will’s spine, over his ass. When the hand disappeared Hugh gasped.

“I wish you’d seen him bent over that table, Will. He was incredibly hot.”

“I can imagine it.” Also, don’t mind me while I sneak a peek—yep, Truman jacking Hugh. Nice.

“If you ask nicely, maybe Truman will repeat the scene sometime. Will, get down here. You’re serving as a surrogate for my emotions again, apparently.”

“Mm, yum.”

“Oh, not really. I have a goal, I just got sidetracked.” And oh, hello, Truman’s hand again. Oh, hello, the sound of a condom being opened.

“Please please please say Hugh’s gonna fuck me now.”

Hugh laughed up at him and pulled him down to suck on his jaw.

“Not exactly, William. I’m going to fuck you. I’m just using Hugh to do it.”

Truman’s fingers, cool with lube, slid inside. And really, I’m going to fuck you. I’m just using Hugh to do it was totally a line Will wanted engraved on a watch or something so he could touch it all the time.

Right, that was a weird thought.

Thoughts—weird and otherwise—fled, because Truman was guiding Hugh’s dick into Will’s ass, and that was pretty much all the everything Will needed.

“I love you both very, very much,” Hugh said, kissing him again.

“I missed you guys. Isn’t that silly? Like we used to live hours away from each other all the time, but now that we don’t it’s like having you gone for the weekend was awful.”

“Next time you’ll have to come with us.”

“Mm, I agree. Up, Will.”

“Up?”

Truman, behind him, pulled him up and wrapped arms around him. “How does it feel? Me fucking you with my husband?”

“Oh my god, Tru, shut up.” But he didn’t shut up. He reached around and started jacking Will’s dick with a lubed hand, and Will was watching Hugh’s face, his eyes, watching the way he watched Truman.

“I’ve never felt like that before,” Truman said into his ear. “I hurt him, Will. It didn’t feel good, not really, but when he came apart—”

Truman broke off and Hugh groaned, eyes dark.

“I don’t know if I could do that again. I’m also not sure I can go without doing it again.”

Words, words, words. Will finally leaned his head back, tensing his ass around Hugh, letting Truman have his dick.

“So beautiful,” Hugh whispered. “Oh god, keep talking. Keep talking and I’ll come, Truman.”

Truman kept talking, and between hands and words Truman fucked them both.

They tried to put Will in the middle, but he nudged Hugh over instead. “You’re the one with the back, Mr Reynolds.”

“My back is just fine.”

“Yeah, but cuddle with your husband anyway, all right?”

The thing about watching them was that it never got old, it never got normal. They still surprised him. They still surprised each other.

Will rolled over on Hugh’s side of the bed and backed up until he could feel their heat behind him.