FIC: The Fourth Proposition, by rebecca
Title: The Fourth Proposition
Author: rebecca
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Universe: Original
Pairing: Adam/Gil/Sam (all OCs)
Summary: “Tell me, Sam,” Gil says. “Would you be interested in continuing this conversation after the fund-raiser is over?”
Warnings: mild D/s
Notes: I didn’t include this in my WIP round-up because honestly I’d forgotten about it. But I went through old files in that folder and discovered that one, this part was finished and two, it was pretty decent. This involves some people you may have heard about or read about before, but not necessarily in this combination. All characters belong to me, amazingly enough.
This particular story is backstory for some secondary characters in a universe I’m calling D3, which is kind of a Geometry AU. The main story for D3 is in progress and I am hoping to get back to it and finish it soon, but I make no promises.
It’s a good trade all around, Sam thinks as Christian goes out on stage. The Maverick Foundation gets some publicity and a rising star to perform at their annual big fundraiser, Christian gets some publicity and a nod for doing good works, and Sam hasn’t really had to do anything harder than herd Christian for the last couple weeks.
It’s almost like having a vacation.
The people he’s had to deal with have been pretty good all around, too, he thinks as the lights go up and there’s a roar of applause from the crowd. He hasn’t met the Big Boss, but he hasn’t expected to, just the people from the foundation and the fundraising committee.
“You’re very good,” a voice observes from behind him. Sam turns and sees a man who looks vaguely familiar, but he’s not sure how. Short brown hair, graying a little bit, athletic build, late thirties or so. “This is the first time we’ve had the fundraiser go off successfully without at least one or two meltdowns along the way.” He holds out a hand. “Gil, and you must be Sam Kendall.”
As in Sampson, as in the Big Boss. “I am. Thank you, sir,” Sam says, shaking hands and noting calluses. Not surprising; his mental file on Sampson includes a black belt in karate.
It didn’t include the fact that the man’s a strong Dom, strong enough to have Sam wanting to hit his knees almost immediately. He should have figured that part.
“Just Gil,” he says. “For now.”
Okay, he wasn’t expecting that part, either. Sam glances up, meets Gil’s eyes for a moment then looks down. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” he asks, one step away from hitting subspace and hating that he can drop so easily around someone he doesn’t know. He really needs to get laid, clearly.
“Depends,” Gil says. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Sam glances out on stage, but it’ll be a good hour before Christian needs him again and anything he wants at that point can be and probably will be handled by Joshua instead. “I do, sir,” he says.
They take seats on a couch backstage and Sam takes advantage of the whole moving and sitting down thing to study Gil a bit more closely. He’s wearing a tux; then again, so is Sam. Gil does have what looks like a wedding ring on his left hand; plain platinum band set with a square-cut ruby. Right. Life partner and business partner, Adam Knight, who Sam doesn’t see around.
“Do I pass inspection?” Gil asks lightly, and Sam flushes.
“Sorry, sir,” he says. “I just didn’t expect you to take such a personal interest in one fundraiser.”
“Or one personal assistant?” Gil asks. “The foundation is…very important to me. I like to make sure anything involving it goes well, and gets at least a bit of my attention. Your name came up several times when I was hearing reports of this year’s planning and I was impressed with what I heard.”
“You have good people to work with, sir,” Sam says. “That always helps, and Christian really wanted to do this. Did you know he used to give music lessons at your center in DC, back when he was a working musician and not a rising pop star?”
“I did, actually,” Gil says. “We crossed paths a few times. I was the one who suggested him for this year’s concert.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sam admits. “I figured it came from someone who knew his background.”
“Both professional and personal?” Gil asks.
Sam stiffens. “He’s told his story,” he says evenly. “It’s not something he’s trying to hide.”
“I wasn’t making any kind of implication,” Gil says mildly. “We’re fundraising for a new campaign against child abuse and by extension, domestic violence. Christian has a documented history of being a survivor of domestic assault. It’s natural that he’d want to help.”
“Or run as far away as possible,” Sam points out. “He doesn’t want to be seen as the poster boy.”
“He won’t be,” Gil says. “If he wanted to run away from it, he’d never have told his story. It takes a lot of courage to do what he’s done, and I admire him for it.”
Okay, that makes Sam relax a bit.
“You’re very protective of him,” Gil notes.
“He’s a friend,” Sam says. “He’s more than my job, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“Neither do I,” Gil says. “But I’m less interested in talking about him than I am interested in learning about you.”
That’s direct, and unexpected, and Sam flushes again, ducking his head. “I’m not sure what to tell you, sir,” he says. “I’m just a personal assistant.”
“From around here, if I judge your accent correctly,” Gil says.
“Virginia, yeah,” Sam says. “At least, that’s where I grew up, but I only moved back to the area about a year ago. I spent a while traveling.”
“Locally or internationally?” Gil asks.
“Within the States,” Sam says. “After I graduated prep school, I took a few years, worked my way down to Texas and back again. The plan had been to head up to New York but I got sidetracked in DC for a bit and then the label assigned me as Christian’s assistant, and now I work directly for him instead of through the label, and I don’t have any plans to go anywhere for a while. I enjoy what I do.”
“Always an important asset,” Gil says. “Otherwise, why bother doing it at all?”
“People will put up with a lot for the sake of a steady paycheck,” Sam says.
Gil smiles a little, acknowledging the point.
“Gil, did you-ah, there you are,” a tall man says, walking over to them. Sam glances up, sees the couture tux and the waist-length thick dark braid, and identifies Adam Knight, Gil’s partner. “I see you found him.”
“Of course,” Gil says. “Sam Kendall, Adam Knight. Adam, meet Sam.”
“Evening,” Adam says, extending a hand.
“Evening, sir,” Sam says, rising to shake his. He gets the same sense of presence from Adam as he does from Gil, although it’s less…focused, he thinks, and wonders if Gil is deliberately trying to drop him or at least throw him off balance.
Now that’s a disturbing thought, and he wonders why Gil would bother. He’s fairly certain Gil doesn’t do anything without a reason; the man’s made billions and he hasn’t done it by being completely reckless and impulsive.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt you,” Adam says, gesturing for Sam to take his seat again. “I just wanted to check in and let you know that things are going fantastically well out there.”
Sam takes advantage of Gil answering him to check his watch. He’s got a good forty minutes before he needs to be anywhere, which is good, although he wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee or a glass of water right about now.
Five minutes to jerk off in the bathroom also wouldn’t be a bad thing, but that would be a bad idea on so many levels. God, he needs to get laid.
“No, we were just talking,” Gil says to Adam. “I was going to go in search of tea in a bit.” He turns back to Sam. “Can I interest you in a cup of tea or coffee?”
“If I’m not taking up too much of your time, sir,” Sam says, jolted back into reality.
“I wouldn’t have asked if you were,” Gil says. “Come on, then. The caterers are back this way.”
The three of them make their way to the kitchen and the caterers’ domain, where the wait staff quickly gives them coffee and tea and plates of assorted cookies before politely requesting that they get out of the way. Sam grins and follows Gil and Adam back to the couch, where Gil takes his seat, Adam perches on the arm behind him, and Sam, feeling very much like the mouse being watched by a patient cat, sits at the other end.
“How did you end up working for Christian?” Adam asks, a casual hand on Gil’s shoulder.
“Through the label,” Sam says, although he thinks they probably already know this. “I was contracted to them as a general factotum and I’d been working for another musician who moved to LA. She severed her contract with me, but they still had to pay me, and then Christian flaked on a meeting and some exec decided to throw me at the problem. I was told to show up at nine with tea. The label let me go when my contract ran out, but Joshua picked it up. Well, Joshua and Christian.”
Gil sips his tea, and for a moment there’s silence. Sam does not fidget, although he really wants to. He sits quietly, but can’t quite bring himself to drink his coffee.
“Do I make you nervous, Sam?” Gil asks.
“I think you’re trying to, sir,” Sam says honestly, figuring he’s got little to lose. “I haven’t figured out why, but I think you’ve been trying to throw me off-balance since you introduced yourself.”
“Gil,” Adam says, sounding amused. “Have you been playing games with the boy?”
Gil smiles a little. “Only a bit.”
“Why?” Sam asks. “I’m not-maybe I’m a little frustrated, but more than anything, I don’t get it. Why me? I’m just a personal assistant, I’m not-“
“You’re the personal assistant to one of the fastest rising stars in pop culture,” Gil says, setting his tea down. “You run his life about as smoothly as I’d expect my executive assistant to run mine, and his duties don’t involve dry cleaning, chauffeur duty or almost 24/7 on call duty. You kept this fundraiser from having any kind of meltdown, personal or professional, and I’ve never had that happen before, regardless of size, which tells me that either you’re able to perform magic or you take personal assistant duties to a level I’ve never heard of. All that adds up to one very interesting person, and a very impressive one, at that.”
Sam manages not to blush, but he ducks his head, looking at his coffee. “You flatter me, sir,” he says. “I just do my job.”
“That’s usually the statement I get from people who are the best at their jobs,” Gil says.
“Or the ones who define their own positions,” Adam offers. “Like you, love, and you, Sam.”
“Tell me, Sam,” Gil says. “Would you be interested in continuing this conversation after the fund-raiser is over?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Sam says. “I think that depends on the parameters of the conversation.”
“They’re entirely up to you,” Gil says. “If you want nothing more than a cup of coffee and some late night conversation, that’s certainly doable.”
“If, however, you’d be interested in coming home with us, that’s also doable,” Adam says. “Just bear in mind that it’s either both or nothing.”
“Do you make these sort of offers often, sir?” Sam asks, trying to figure out what the hell is going on here. Both or nothing-okay, but does that mean Adam’s interested in him, or is he indulging Gil, or what the hell? And is Gil even interested, or is this some kind of game?
“No,” Gil says. “I don’t.”
Sam needs to think for a moment, and he can’t get his thoughts in order with Gil watching him steadily and Adam looking like a particularly mischievous Puck at his back.
“It’s your choice, Sam,” Adam says, and Sam hears the presence in Adam’s voice, knows that if he goes home with these two, he’ll drop so far down he’ll never get up without help.
“I can’t-I need a moment,” Sam finally says, getting up. “Excuse me.” Gil nods and Adam smiles and Sam escapes with his coffee.
He finds Joshua watching the show and for a moment just listens to Christian singing, letting the familiar music settle him the way it always does.
“What’s up with you?” Joshua murmurs to him. “Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve been being flirted with by our hosts,” Sam murmurs back. “Sampson and Knight. They asked me to go home with them.”
Joshua’s eyebrows go up. “Did they, now?”
“Yes, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it,” Sam says in frustration.
“Are you interested in them?” Joshua asks.
“It’s not that simple, Joshua,” Sam says.
“Tell me why it isn’t,” Joshua says.
“Because…God.” Sam sighs. “Because I’m afraid I want it too much,” he says. “Because-okay. You’re a strong Dom, and as a sub I respect that, and I can react to that, and you’ve never tried to drop me, for which I’m grateful. But these two…Christ, Joshua, they’re hardly trying and I’m practically on my knees, and I don’t know as I want them to first, see me that vulnerable this soon, and second, take that from me and then never see me again. I’m sure they’re wonderful men, but this is probably a thing for a weekend hookup and then I’ll never see them again and that? That would truly suck.”
Joshua nods, not taking his eyes off Christian, who’s laughing onstage. “Or you could have horrible sex and be relieved when it was over,” he says. “Or it could turn into something more than a weekend hookup.”
“What are the odds of that?” Sam asks skeptically.
“That I couldn’t tell you, but you could ask them,” Joshua says. “Sam, I say this with all due respect as your friend and your co-boss-you need to get laid. Badly.”
Sam sighs. “I know.”
“He’s winding up,” Joshua says, nodding at Christian. “He’s got one song left and then the encore. I suggest whatever you decide, you do it before he gets offstage, or you’ll never escape even if you want to.”
“I know,” Sam says. “God. Am I really going to do this?”
“I think you are,” Joshua says.
“I think so, too,” Sam admits. “Wish me luck?”
Joshua squeezes his shoulder. “Tell us about it after,” he says.
“I’ll share stories if I have them,” Sam promises and makes his way out of the wings and back to where he’d first encountered Gil. As he’d expected, Gil and Adam are still there, although Adam’s moved to Sam’s old seat, and they’re talking quietly.
“You’ve returned,” Adam comments. “I was afraid we’d scared you away altogether.”
“Not quite, sir,” Sam says.
Adam moves to the center cushion, gesturing for Sam to sit down, which he does. “Does that mean you’ll grace us with your presence after this event is over?” Adam asks lightly.
“Adam,” Gil says. “Don’t make fun of him.”
“I’m not,” Adam says. ‘Only poking a little fun at the situation. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever propositioned someone and been told they need to think it over.”
“Yes, but how often do you proposition people, sir?” Sam asks.
Adam laughs. “Not very.”
“By which he means, Sam, that you’re the fourth person we’ve asked to come home with us since we began considering the idea of inviting others into our bed,” Gil says quietly. “We don’t do this often, or without discussing it first.”
“I’ll tell you why we decided on you if you decide to come home with us,” Adam says.
“What if I don’t?” Sam asks.
“Then it’ll remain a mystery to you,” Adam says. “Which would be a shame for all considered.”
“But don’t let that be the reason for your decision,” Gil says.
“I wasn’t going to, sir,” Sam says. “But I was going to ask the reason.”
Adam laughs. “Well done,” he says. “When and where do we have to return you?”
Sam blushes a little at the realization that this is actually happening. “Tuesday morning, I need to be up and functional-which includes shower, shave, clean clothes, and coffee-by eight,” he says. “I have somewhere to be by nine.”
“We promise we’ll either have you up and functional by eight, or make sure you’re somewhere you can be up and functional yourself,” Gil says.
“That’s fair,” Sam says with a nod.
“Until then, though,” Adam says. “All bets are off the table.”
Sam closes his eyes for a moment.
They get through the post-performance somehow, and Sam fades into the background and lets Joshua handle Christian. He watches Gil and Adam work the crowd, make speeches and smile and pose for pictures, and wonders when his life went completely insane.
“Come on, then,” Adam says when the crowd’s dispersing and Sam’s said goodnight to Joshua and Christian. “Let’s get out of here.”
He takes Sam’s elbow just to guide him and make sure they don’t get separated through the crowd, and even through layers of tux jacket and shirt, Sam’s skin prickles. God help him.
Gil’s already waiting in the limo, a bottle of water in its holder next to him on the side bench. Adam motions for Sam to get in first before sliding in after him, and the door closes behind Adam. The privacy screen’s up but the limo begins moving after a moment.
“Sam, what is your safeword and what are your limits?” Gil asks matter of factly.
Yeah, he’s not surprised. “My safeword is Cooper, sir,” Sam says. “Limits-watersports, scat, anything of that nature. Bloodplay without a test. Breathplay until I know you better. I’m not a huge fan of boot worship, and I don’t enjoy being humiliated. Um. Marks that show outside reasonable clothes for the season-so right now, anything that won’t show under a button-down shirt and jeans is fine, but anything else, like on my face or my throat, isn’t.”
“Button-down shirt and jeans covers a lot,” Adam comments.
“It does,” Sam agrees. “And I don’t do permanent marks. I think that about covers it. Any objections?”
Gil shakes his head. “None,” he says. “May I explain how this works, with the three of us?”
“Please, sir,” Sam says.
Gil smiles a little. “You answer to me,” he says. “If I’m not around, you answer to Adam. If the three of us are together, and Adam gives you an order different than one I’ve given you, ignore him, unless we negotiate differently for a scene.”
Sam nods, relieved to hear it. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“We’ll give you down time and we’ll make sure you stay hydrated and fed and all that,” Gil continues. “But what we’d like, for the next three days, is for you to let us take care of you.”
“This sounds a bit too good to be real, sir,” Sam says after a moment.
“We promise it’s not,” Adam says lightly.
Sam swallows. “No, sir,” he says. “I mean, yes, sir.”
“Relax, Sam,” Adam says. “If you’re uncomfortable with this, with any part of us, tell us and it stops. Our goal isn’t to break you.”
“Not without promising to put you back together, at any rate,” Gil says.
Sam looks down at his hands. “Sir, may I ask a question?” he asks.
“You can ask anything you want,” Gil says.
“You said I’m the fourth person you’ve invited home like this,” Sam says slowly. “What happened with the other three?”
“One turned us down but became a platonic friend,” Gil says. “One said yes and ended up being an occasional third for a few years before meeting the love of his life. He’s still a close friend. The third said yes, but chose not to see us again after the initial weekend. We’ve stayed in touch, and about five years ago he moved to California, so we see him less often.”
For some reason, Sam relaxes a bit at hearing that, but he doesn’t know why. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you, sir.”
“Of course,” Gil says. “Is there anything else I can answer for you?”
“Not right now, sir, thank you,” Sam says.
“Will you let us take care of you for a few days, Sam?” Adam asks.
Sam looks at him, then at Gil, and wonders what he’s getting himself into. “Yes, sir,” he says. “Whatever-whatever you want.”
“What I want,” Adam says softly, “is for you to kiss me, Sam.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam whispers, but it’s less him kissing Adam than Adam’s hand sliding into his hair and Adam’s mouth claiming his own. Sam feels himself sliding down and doesn’t try to fight it, just lets himself fall and go loose and pliant.
Even one kiss is enough to make him hard, and Adam doesn’t stop kissing him long enough to let him catch his breath. Sam shifts against the seat, restless and feeling too constricted by his clothes.
“Adam,” Gil says, and Adam draws back slowly. Sam swallows, his lips feeling bruised and swollen and his cock achingly hard.
“We’re almost home,” Adam says, resting a hand on Sam’s thigh. Sam slumps a little in relief, but it really is only a minute later when the limo slows to a stop and the door opens. Adam gets out with a word for the driver, and Sam slips behind him, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
“Worried about gossip?” Gil murmurs, coming up behind Sam.
“Should I be, sir?” Sam asks back.
“No,” Gil says. “I’ve known Drew for years.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam says. Honestly, he doesn’t care much for himself, but any gossip about him might drag Christian into it, and that’s not fair.
The big stone and brick house has an alarm code, but only one lock, and by the time Gil has the door open Adam’s joined them on the stoop. There’s a light on in the hallway, and a small table, where Gil tosses his keys into a blue bowl. The house smells-green, is the only way Sam can put it, and when he looks around, he sees a vibrantly healthy hanging plant and what appears to be a small potted tree sitting next to a window.
“Do you want anything to drink, Sam?” Gil asks.
“No, sir, thank you,” Sam says, although his mouth has gone dry.
Adam laughs softly, resting his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Sam,” he says. “We won’t eat you alive.”
“I’m not so sure of that, sir,” Sam says without thinking.
“Well,” Gil says. “It depends on your definiti-“
“Gil,” Adam cuts him off. “Really?” He sighs. “He’s hopeless with bad jokes,” he tells Sam.
“At least he didn’t say I’m just hopeless,” Gil points out.
Sam smiles a little. “I’m not sure hopeless is the right word, sir,” he says. “Possibly eccentric.”
“Which is insanity if you’re broke,” Gil says.
“Which, sir, you’re not,” Sam says. “Number…two is it this year, on the Forbes list?”
Gil shrugs carelessly. “Something like that. I don’t pay attention.”
“I do,” Adam says. “One of us has to.”
“Before we stand here and banter all night, I’m moving this conversation,” Gil says. “And getting out of this straitjacket. Come on.” He gestures for Sam to follow him, and Gil leads him through the dark house to the master suite at the back of the first floor, complete with sitting area-slash-small office and a door leading to the enclosed lap pool a few steps below.
But Sam’s expecting to see more-well, lavish furnishings, and he doesn’t. It’s really more minimalistic, he thinks, looking around. Even the small workstation area is spare and neat. Space, sure, there’s plenty of that. But no TV, no antique anything, just a textured blue rug under the bed and crisp white sheets under a blue-and-green quilt.
“Confused, Sam?” Adam asks.
“Not quite what I expected, sir,” Sam admits.
“Good,” Gil says. “I don’t like being expected.”
“What do you like, sir?” Sam asks quietly.
Gil smiles. “I’ll let you find out. Come here, please.”
“Sir,” Sam says, taking the few steps to stand in front of Gil. It’s a little disconcerting to realize that Gil’s a couple inches shorter than him. He seems like he should be as tall as Adam.
But Gil leans up just a little and kisses him, and Sam closes his eyes and realizes two things: one, that height doesn’t matter a damn thing where Gil’s concerned, and two, that he’s never going to make it out of subspace this weekend.
He sinks to his knees when Gil lets him go, unable to stay standing. “Gil, I think you broke him,” Adam says. “And so early, too.”
“He’s not broken,” Gil says; Sam can feel Gil watching him. “Just down. Am I right, Sam?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam murmurs.
“You’re allowed to stand,” Adam comments. “Just for the record. Don’t get me wrong, you look amazing on your knees, but you don’t have to stay there, for the moment.”
“No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Sam says, but he stays where he is for another moment, watching Gil shrug out of his tux jacket and toss it carelessly across the back of a chair in the sitting area. That makes him wince, so he gets up and picks up the jacket, smoothing out the fabric. “May I hang this up, sir?”
Gil laughs. “Does my disregard for fashion bother you? It needs to go to the cleaners anyway, Sam.”
“Sir, but it can at least be hung up in its bag when you take it in,” Sam says.
“He’s got you there, Gil,” Adam says. He opens a door, revealing an extensive walk-in closet. “Come here, I’ll show you where it goes.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sam does, in fact, hang up the jacket. And the rest of Gil’s tux, and put his shoes away and put his cufflinks and his shirt studs in the box Adam shows him. Adam, meanwhile, manages to put away his own clothing without resorting to the chair as clothes hanger.
“This is backwards,” Gil says when Sam’s gotten him down to his briefs and Adam’s zipping the bag on his own tux. “Adam, don’t you think this is backwards?”
Sam personally thinks he’s grateful to have had the tux to focus on, because if all he’d done was watch Gil get undressed, he’d have gone back to his knees and stayed there. Martial artist, built; Jesus, Sam’s toast. Adam’s not as built, but he’s long and lean and Sam wants to see his hair out of its braid, wonders what that’d feel like.
“I do,” Adam agrees.
“I don’t know, sir, I kind of like the way things look from here,” Sam says, smiling a little.
Gil laughs. “Please undress for me, Sam.”
“Sir,” Sam murmurs, already slipping out of his tux jacket. There’s a spare hanger-several spare hangers, really-in the closet and he hangs up his own clothes neatly, shoes lined up underneath. His socks get tucked in one shoe, his boxer briefs folded and laid over the other, and he sinks to his knees again, hands clasped behind his back.
“Beautiful,” Adam says softly. “Absolutely perfect.”
Sam’s cheeks heat and he ducks his head. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbles.
“Let’s move this to the bed,” Gil says. “Sam, come to me, please.”
“Sir,” Sam says, unsure for a moment whether to get up or not. He hasn’t been told to crawl, though, and Adam did say he could stand. Also, crawling on hardwood is a bitch and a half. He gets to his feet, walking over to Gil.
Gil curls a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him, hard and deep. Sam groans and melts into Gil, vaguely aware of Adam’s hands on his shoulders and wrists. He’s not quite with it enough to move, though, and he stumbles when Adam backs him up a step. “Easy,” Adam murmurs. “Gil, let him go for a moment.”
Adam gets him on the bed, sitting with Adam kneeling behind him, pressed close against his back. “Give me your wrists, sweetheart,” Adam says, kissing his jaw, and Sam closes his eyes and leans back.
“He won’t let you go,” Gil says, resting one knee on the bed. “You can fight it if you want, but he won’t let you go.”
“You don’t want that, though, do you?” Adam asks, tightening his grip just a little. Sam shudders and shakes his head.
“Sir,” he whispers. “Please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” Adam asks, even as he kisses Sam’s throat, nips at his earlobe. “Tell me what you need.”
“Anything,” Sam says. He lets his head fall back against Adam’s shoulder, baring his throat. “Please, anything you want.”
Gil crawls onto the bed, over Sam, and bites him, just over his pulse, hard enough to sting but soft enough not to bruise. Sam gasps, arching up under Gil, pulling against Adam’s hold on his wrists.
“Look at him,” Adam murmurs in Sam’s ear. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”
That’s one word for it, Sam thinks fuzzily, looking down at Gil. He’s all sleek muscles and smooth skin, a sprinkling of hair on his chest leading down to a happy trail Sam really, really wants to touch. Sam moves with him willingly, drawing his knees up when Gil presses his legs back. Gil bends down and bites Sam again, this time on his inner thigh and harder than before, making Sam cry out.
“You like being marked, don’t you?” Adam asks.
“I like-the reminder,” Sam manages. “Being able to feel it after.”
“We’ll give you plenty of reminders,” Adam promises; Sam swallows hard.
But having marked him once, Gil seems content for the moment. He moves away for a moment, opening a drawer in the nightstand. Sam’s not surprised to see him snag a few pieces of latex and a bottle of lube, tossing them onto the bed. Gil reaches into the drawer again, though, and Sam wonders why.
“Do you need this, or can you wait until I tell you to come?” Gil asks, holding up a simple cock ring.
Sam forces himself to think. He’s usually pretty good at keeping himself from coming, but he hasn’t had sex in ages. But he wants to show Gil and Adam that he can wait, that he doesn’t need help to keep from coming until he’s allowed.
“It’s all right,” Adam says, kissing Sam’s throat. “There’s no embarrassment in needing it.”
“No, sir,” Sam murmurs. “I’ll be okay without it, though.”
“You’re sure?” Gil asks.
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, praying he’s not wrong.
Gil nods and puts the cock ring away. Sam watches him pull on the glove and turns his head into Adam’s neck, closing his eyes. “Easy, sweetheart,” Adam says, kissing his temple. “Just let yourself feel.”
“Sir,” Sam says, although it comes out as one long moan as Gil slowly presses one finger into him. He twists a little, looking for a kiss from Adam, and makes a low sound when Adam kisses him long and deep, his hair brushing over Sam’s skin.
With Adam’s mouth on his and Adam’s hands on his wrists, Sam can’t really move or cry out when Gil swallows his cock down, but damn if he doesn’t try. He wasn’t expecting that at all and Jesus, but maybe he should have asked for the cock ring.
“It’s all right,” Adam says, punctuated with a bite to his lower lip. “You can come when he’s got his mouth on you.”
Thank God. “Thank you, sir,” Sam manages, and he’s not sure how he gets that out because Gil pushes another finger into him and makes him see stars, and between the fingers and Gil’s insanely talented, hot, wet mouth, he’s crying out and coming before he can even try and hold back.
Gil swallows, which Sam did not expect at all, and licks him clean until Sam’s squirming away, too sensitized to stand it. Gil kneels up, but he’s still got two fingers inside Sam, and when he shifts, they shift, and Sam groans, telling himself he’s not sixteen anymore and he can’t get hard again.
At least, not this soon.
“Gil,” Adam murmurs, and there’s a bit of shifting all around-Sam bites back a whimper-as Gil kisses Adam over his shoulder. He wishes he had a better view, because Jesus, that’s scorching hot.
Gil draws back, but kisses Sam lightly as he does. “I want to fuck you,” he says, his voice low but intent.
“Sir,” Sam whispers. “Please.”
“Lie back, sweetheart,” Adam says, releasing his wrists, and Sam doesn’t lie down so much as fall against the comforter, Adam kneeling by his head. Adam’s hard, he can see that, and he wants to do something about it, suck him or something, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“He likes to watch,” Gil says to Sam, smiling a little at Adam. “But if you ask, he’ll let you suck him off later.”
“Please, sir,” Sam says, swallowing.
Adam grins. “All right,” he says. “After Gil’s done with you.”
The way he says that makes Sam shiver, or maybe that’s just the way Gil’s stretching him, two fingers easy in and out, as if he’s got all the time in the world. Sam’s beginning to wonder if he might actually get hard again when Gil slides a third finger into him and twists at just the right angle to make Sam’s hips buck up and his cock jump.
“That’s it,” Adam murmurs, stroking Sam’s hair.
“I want you to come for us again,” Gil says softly.
Sam thinks with his two remaining brain cells that Gil’s used to getting what he wants, and from the way he’s fingering Sam, this isn’t going to be an exception. He wonders maybe if Gil’s into fisting at all, if they can try that before this all ends on Tuesday morning, but the thought’s there and gone in a moment, replaced by arousal and the ragged sound of his own breath.
He’s fully hard and almost panting with it when Gil’s fingers slip out of him; Sam hears the snap and rustle of a latex glove being discarded and the slither of a condom being put on. And then Gil pushes into him, one smooth thrust that makes him gasp and draw his knees up higher.
“Give me your hands, sweetheart,” Adam says, and Sam manages to push his hands over his head, Adam’s fingers closing around his wrists to hold him down. Sam whimpers, unable to stop the sound and not caring how desperate he sounds. He’s gone, so far down he doesn’t even know which way is up, not knowing anything other than this, than Gil inside him and over him and Adam’s hands on his wrists, Adam’s hair brushing his skin.
“Please,” he says, or thinks he does; he’s not really sure. “Please-“
“Not yet,” Adam says; Sam half-sobs, rocked back against the covers every time Gil thrusts into him, his arms pulling against Adam’s hold.
He has to come, needs to come, and he begs for it, shameless and desperate and wild, and the pressure just keeps building with every soft ‘not yet’ from Adam, every low groan from Gil. Sam isn’t sure but thinks he might possibly be on the verge of tears when Gil makes a low growl in the back of his throat and-
“Now,” Adam says, sharp and clear. “Now.”
Sam comes so hard he just-shatters, his senses overloading and reducing the world to a blurry gray thing for a moment or five. He’s vaguely aware of Gil driving into him one last time before holding still, of Adam’s grip on his wrists easing, but it’s all fuzzy and surreal.
What snaps him back into focus is the faint sound of distaste Gil makes as he pulls out, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash. Sam licks sweat off his upper lip, swallows, tries to sit up and fails.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Adam says, rubbing his wrists gently. “Take a moment.”
“Sir, but-“ Sam says, not sure where he’s going with that.
“But nothing,” Adam says. “You were beautiful, Sam, and we’re both very, very pleased with you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam murmurs, glancing up at Adam. “But you-“
“It’s not necessary,” Adam says, smiling a bit. “Gil did tell you I liked to watch.”
“Enough to get off from it, even,” Gil says. “I admit I wasn’t expecting that.”
“What can I say?” Adam asks. “You two were amazing together.”
Sam blushes a bit. “Thank you, sir,” he says again.
Gil leans down and kisses Sam, slow and easy. “I’m going to go get a couple washcloths,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He slides off the bed and Sam watches him walk to the bathroom, frowning a little when he sees that Gil seems to be favoring his left side.
Sam tries again to sit up and manages it this time, Adam’s arm coming around his shoulders. “I’ve got you,” Adam says, kissing his temple.
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, grateful for the support and starting to feel a little chilled.
When Gil returns, Sam frowns again, because Gil definitely wasn’t limping earlier but he is now, and he’s slower on the left when he crawls back onto the bed and hands Sam a washcloth. “Sir, are you all right?” he asks, cleaning up as best he can.
“Noticed that, did you?” Gil asks. “I’m fine, Sam. Adam and I were in a car accident a few years ago and I have a few residual aches on my left side as a result.”
“Just a bit of understatement there,” Adam says, taking the washcloth Gil hands him.
“Quiet, you,” Gil says. “Sam, just toss that in the hamper, we’ll deal with them in the morning.”
“Sir,” Sam says, following directions and moving out of the way as Gil and Adam push back the covers. “Um, where-“
“We’ll put you in the middle, unless you’re averse to the idea,” Gil says. “Otherwise, we’ll get shoved out of bed by Adam. He sprawls.”
“And Gil talks in his sleep, so if you hear him blathering on, just smother him with your pillow,” Adam says.
Sam smiles a little and slides under the covers, Gil facing him and Adam at his back. He swallows a yawn, then another one, realizing that it’s been a long day and he’s exhausted.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Gil murmurs, drawing the comforter up over them. “Good night.”
“Night, sir,” Sam murmurs, already drifting. He hears voices talking quietly for a bit, not sure if they’re in English or not, but there’s something somewhat comforting about them and the sound follows him down into his dreams.
This entry was originally posted at http://blueraccoon.dreamwidth.org/1019013.html. Please comment there. |
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Author: rebecca
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Universe: Original
Pairing: Adam/Gil/Sam (all OCs)
Summary: “Tell me, Sam,” Gil says. “Would you be interested in continuing this conversation after the fund-raiser is over?”
Warnings: mild D/s
Notes: I didn’t include this in my WIP round-up because honestly I’d forgotten about it. But I went through old files in that folder and discovered that one, this part was finished and two, it was pretty decent. This involves some people you may have heard about or read about before, but not necessarily in this combination. All characters belong to me, amazingly enough.
This particular story is backstory for some secondary characters in a universe I’m calling D3, which is kind of a Geometry AU. The main story for D3 is in progress and I am hoping to get back to it and finish it soon, but I make no promises.
It’s a good trade all around, Sam thinks as Christian goes out on stage. The Maverick Foundation gets some publicity and a rising star to perform at their annual big fundraiser, Christian gets some publicity and a nod for doing good works, and Sam hasn’t really had to do anything harder than herd Christian for the last couple weeks.
It’s almost like having a vacation.
The people he’s had to deal with have been pretty good all around, too, he thinks as the lights go up and there’s a roar of applause from the crowd. He hasn’t met the Big Boss, but he hasn’t expected to, just the people from the foundation and the fundraising committee.
“You’re very good,” a voice observes from behind him. Sam turns and sees a man who looks vaguely familiar, but he’s not sure how. Short brown hair, graying a little bit, athletic build, late thirties or so. “This is the first time we’ve had the fundraiser go off successfully without at least one or two meltdowns along the way.” He holds out a hand. “Gil, and you must be Sam Kendall.”
As in Sampson, as in the Big Boss. “I am. Thank you, sir,” Sam says, shaking hands and noting calluses. Not surprising; his mental file on Sampson includes a black belt in karate.
It didn’t include the fact that the man’s a strong Dom, strong enough to have Sam wanting to hit his knees almost immediately. He should have figured that part.
“Just Gil,” he says. “For now.”
Okay, he wasn’t expecting that part, either. Sam glances up, meets Gil’s eyes for a moment then looks down. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” he asks, one step away from hitting subspace and hating that he can drop so easily around someone he doesn’t know. He really needs to get laid, clearly.
“Depends,” Gil says. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Sam glances out on stage, but it’ll be a good hour before Christian needs him again and anything he wants at that point can be and probably will be handled by Joshua instead. “I do, sir,” he says.
They take seats on a couch backstage and Sam takes advantage of the whole moving and sitting down thing to study Gil a bit more closely. He’s wearing a tux; then again, so is Sam. Gil does have what looks like a wedding ring on his left hand; plain platinum band set with a square-cut ruby. Right. Life partner and business partner, Adam Knight, who Sam doesn’t see around.
“Do I pass inspection?” Gil asks lightly, and Sam flushes.
“Sorry, sir,” he says. “I just didn’t expect you to take such a personal interest in one fundraiser.”
“Or one personal assistant?” Gil asks. “The foundation is…very important to me. I like to make sure anything involving it goes well, and gets at least a bit of my attention. Your name came up several times when I was hearing reports of this year’s planning and I was impressed with what I heard.”
“You have good people to work with, sir,” Sam says. “That always helps, and Christian really wanted to do this. Did you know he used to give music lessons at your center in DC, back when he was a working musician and not a rising pop star?”
“I did, actually,” Gil says. “We crossed paths a few times. I was the one who suggested him for this year’s concert.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sam admits. “I figured it came from someone who knew his background.”
“Both professional and personal?” Gil asks.
Sam stiffens. “He’s told his story,” he says evenly. “It’s not something he’s trying to hide.”
“I wasn’t making any kind of implication,” Gil says mildly. “We’re fundraising for a new campaign against child abuse and by extension, domestic violence. Christian has a documented history of being a survivor of domestic assault. It’s natural that he’d want to help.”
“Or run as far away as possible,” Sam points out. “He doesn’t want to be seen as the poster boy.”
“He won’t be,” Gil says. “If he wanted to run away from it, he’d never have told his story. It takes a lot of courage to do what he’s done, and I admire him for it.”
Okay, that makes Sam relax a bit.
“You’re very protective of him,” Gil notes.
“He’s a friend,” Sam says. “He’s more than my job, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“Neither do I,” Gil says. “But I’m less interested in talking about him than I am interested in learning about you.”
That’s direct, and unexpected, and Sam flushes again, ducking his head. “I’m not sure what to tell you, sir,” he says. “I’m just a personal assistant.”
“From around here, if I judge your accent correctly,” Gil says.
“Virginia, yeah,” Sam says. “At least, that’s where I grew up, but I only moved back to the area about a year ago. I spent a while traveling.”
“Locally or internationally?” Gil asks.
“Within the States,” Sam says. “After I graduated prep school, I took a few years, worked my way down to Texas and back again. The plan had been to head up to New York but I got sidetracked in DC for a bit and then the label assigned me as Christian’s assistant, and now I work directly for him instead of through the label, and I don’t have any plans to go anywhere for a while. I enjoy what I do.”
“Always an important asset,” Gil says. “Otherwise, why bother doing it at all?”
“People will put up with a lot for the sake of a steady paycheck,” Sam says.
Gil smiles a little, acknowledging the point.
“Gil, did you-ah, there you are,” a tall man says, walking over to them. Sam glances up, sees the couture tux and the waist-length thick dark braid, and identifies Adam Knight, Gil’s partner. “I see you found him.”
“Of course,” Gil says. “Sam Kendall, Adam Knight. Adam, meet Sam.”
“Evening,” Adam says, extending a hand.
“Evening, sir,” Sam says, rising to shake his. He gets the same sense of presence from Adam as he does from Gil, although it’s less…focused, he thinks, and wonders if Gil is deliberately trying to drop him or at least throw him off balance.
Now that’s a disturbing thought, and he wonders why Gil would bother. He’s fairly certain Gil doesn’t do anything without a reason; the man’s made billions and he hasn’t done it by being completely reckless and impulsive.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt you,” Adam says, gesturing for Sam to take his seat again. “I just wanted to check in and let you know that things are going fantastically well out there.”
Sam takes advantage of Gil answering him to check his watch. He’s got a good forty minutes before he needs to be anywhere, which is good, although he wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee or a glass of water right about now.
Five minutes to jerk off in the bathroom also wouldn’t be a bad thing, but that would be a bad idea on so many levels. God, he needs to get laid.
“No, we were just talking,” Gil says to Adam. “I was going to go in search of tea in a bit.” He turns back to Sam. “Can I interest you in a cup of tea or coffee?”
“If I’m not taking up too much of your time, sir,” Sam says, jolted back into reality.
“I wouldn’t have asked if you were,” Gil says. “Come on, then. The caterers are back this way.”
The three of them make their way to the kitchen and the caterers’ domain, where the wait staff quickly gives them coffee and tea and plates of assorted cookies before politely requesting that they get out of the way. Sam grins and follows Gil and Adam back to the couch, where Gil takes his seat, Adam perches on the arm behind him, and Sam, feeling very much like the mouse being watched by a patient cat, sits at the other end.
“How did you end up working for Christian?” Adam asks, a casual hand on Gil’s shoulder.
“Through the label,” Sam says, although he thinks they probably already know this. “I was contracted to them as a general factotum and I’d been working for another musician who moved to LA. She severed her contract with me, but they still had to pay me, and then Christian flaked on a meeting and some exec decided to throw me at the problem. I was told to show up at nine with tea. The label let me go when my contract ran out, but Joshua picked it up. Well, Joshua and Christian.”
Gil sips his tea, and for a moment there’s silence. Sam does not fidget, although he really wants to. He sits quietly, but can’t quite bring himself to drink his coffee.
“Do I make you nervous, Sam?” Gil asks.
“I think you’re trying to, sir,” Sam says honestly, figuring he’s got little to lose. “I haven’t figured out why, but I think you’ve been trying to throw me off-balance since you introduced yourself.”
“Gil,” Adam says, sounding amused. “Have you been playing games with the boy?”
Gil smiles a little. “Only a bit.”
“Why?” Sam asks. “I’m not-maybe I’m a little frustrated, but more than anything, I don’t get it. Why me? I’m just a personal assistant, I’m not-“
“You’re the personal assistant to one of the fastest rising stars in pop culture,” Gil says, setting his tea down. “You run his life about as smoothly as I’d expect my executive assistant to run mine, and his duties don’t involve dry cleaning, chauffeur duty or almost 24/7 on call duty. You kept this fundraiser from having any kind of meltdown, personal or professional, and I’ve never had that happen before, regardless of size, which tells me that either you’re able to perform magic or you take personal assistant duties to a level I’ve never heard of. All that adds up to one very interesting person, and a very impressive one, at that.”
Sam manages not to blush, but he ducks his head, looking at his coffee. “You flatter me, sir,” he says. “I just do my job.”
“That’s usually the statement I get from people who are the best at their jobs,” Gil says.
“Or the ones who define their own positions,” Adam offers. “Like you, love, and you, Sam.”
“Tell me, Sam,” Gil says. “Would you be interested in continuing this conversation after the fund-raiser is over?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Sam says. “I think that depends on the parameters of the conversation.”
“They’re entirely up to you,” Gil says. “If you want nothing more than a cup of coffee and some late night conversation, that’s certainly doable.”
“If, however, you’d be interested in coming home with us, that’s also doable,” Adam says. “Just bear in mind that it’s either both or nothing.”
“Do you make these sort of offers often, sir?” Sam asks, trying to figure out what the hell is going on here. Both or nothing-okay, but does that mean Adam’s interested in him, or is he indulging Gil, or what the hell? And is Gil even interested, or is this some kind of game?
“No,” Gil says. “I don’t.”
Sam needs to think for a moment, and he can’t get his thoughts in order with Gil watching him steadily and Adam looking like a particularly mischievous Puck at his back.
“It’s your choice, Sam,” Adam says, and Sam hears the presence in Adam’s voice, knows that if he goes home with these two, he’ll drop so far down he’ll never get up without help.
“I can’t-I need a moment,” Sam finally says, getting up. “Excuse me.” Gil nods and Adam smiles and Sam escapes with his coffee.
He finds Joshua watching the show and for a moment just listens to Christian singing, letting the familiar music settle him the way it always does.
“What’s up with you?” Joshua murmurs to him. “Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve been being flirted with by our hosts,” Sam murmurs back. “Sampson and Knight. They asked me to go home with them.”
Joshua’s eyebrows go up. “Did they, now?”
“Yes, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it,” Sam says in frustration.
“Are you interested in them?” Joshua asks.
“It’s not that simple, Joshua,” Sam says.
“Tell me why it isn’t,” Joshua says.
“Because…God.” Sam sighs. “Because I’m afraid I want it too much,” he says. “Because-okay. You’re a strong Dom, and as a sub I respect that, and I can react to that, and you’ve never tried to drop me, for which I’m grateful. But these two…Christ, Joshua, they’re hardly trying and I’m practically on my knees, and I don’t know as I want them to first, see me that vulnerable this soon, and second, take that from me and then never see me again. I’m sure they’re wonderful men, but this is probably a thing for a weekend hookup and then I’ll never see them again and that? That would truly suck.”
Joshua nods, not taking his eyes off Christian, who’s laughing onstage. “Or you could have horrible sex and be relieved when it was over,” he says. “Or it could turn into something more than a weekend hookup.”
“What are the odds of that?” Sam asks skeptically.
“That I couldn’t tell you, but you could ask them,” Joshua says. “Sam, I say this with all due respect as your friend and your co-boss-you need to get laid. Badly.”
Sam sighs. “I know.”
“He’s winding up,” Joshua says, nodding at Christian. “He’s got one song left and then the encore. I suggest whatever you decide, you do it before he gets offstage, or you’ll never escape even if you want to.”
“I know,” Sam says. “God. Am I really going to do this?”
“I think you are,” Joshua says.
“I think so, too,” Sam admits. “Wish me luck?”
Joshua squeezes his shoulder. “Tell us about it after,” he says.
“I’ll share stories if I have them,” Sam promises and makes his way out of the wings and back to where he’d first encountered Gil. As he’d expected, Gil and Adam are still there, although Adam’s moved to Sam’s old seat, and they’re talking quietly.
“You’ve returned,” Adam comments. “I was afraid we’d scared you away altogether.”
“Not quite, sir,” Sam says.
Adam moves to the center cushion, gesturing for Sam to sit down, which he does. “Does that mean you’ll grace us with your presence after this event is over?” Adam asks lightly.
“Adam,” Gil says. “Don’t make fun of him.”
“I’m not,” Adam says. ‘Only poking a little fun at the situation. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever propositioned someone and been told they need to think it over.”
“Yes, but how often do you proposition people, sir?” Sam asks.
Adam laughs. “Not very.”
“By which he means, Sam, that you’re the fourth person we’ve asked to come home with us since we began considering the idea of inviting others into our bed,” Gil says quietly. “We don’t do this often, or without discussing it first.”
“I’ll tell you why we decided on you if you decide to come home with us,” Adam says.
“What if I don’t?” Sam asks.
“Then it’ll remain a mystery to you,” Adam says. “Which would be a shame for all considered.”
“But don’t let that be the reason for your decision,” Gil says.
“I wasn’t going to, sir,” Sam says. “But I was going to ask the reason.”
Adam laughs. “Well done,” he says. “When and where do we have to return you?”
Sam blushes a little at the realization that this is actually happening. “Tuesday morning, I need to be up and functional-which includes shower, shave, clean clothes, and coffee-by eight,” he says. “I have somewhere to be by nine.”
“We promise we’ll either have you up and functional by eight, or make sure you’re somewhere you can be up and functional yourself,” Gil says.
“That’s fair,” Sam says with a nod.
“Until then, though,” Adam says. “All bets are off the table.”
Sam closes his eyes for a moment.
They get through the post-performance somehow, and Sam fades into the background and lets Joshua handle Christian. He watches Gil and Adam work the crowd, make speeches and smile and pose for pictures, and wonders when his life went completely insane.
“Come on, then,” Adam says when the crowd’s dispersing and Sam’s said goodnight to Joshua and Christian. “Let’s get out of here.”
He takes Sam’s elbow just to guide him and make sure they don’t get separated through the crowd, and even through layers of tux jacket and shirt, Sam’s skin prickles. God help him.
Gil’s already waiting in the limo, a bottle of water in its holder next to him on the side bench. Adam motions for Sam to get in first before sliding in after him, and the door closes behind Adam. The privacy screen’s up but the limo begins moving after a moment.
“Sam, what is your safeword and what are your limits?” Gil asks matter of factly.
Yeah, he’s not surprised. “My safeword is Cooper, sir,” Sam says. “Limits-watersports, scat, anything of that nature. Bloodplay without a test. Breathplay until I know you better. I’m not a huge fan of boot worship, and I don’t enjoy being humiliated. Um. Marks that show outside reasonable clothes for the season-so right now, anything that won’t show under a button-down shirt and jeans is fine, but anything else, like on my face or my throat, isn’t.”
“Button-down shirt and jeans covers a lot,” Adam comments.
“It does,” Sam agrees. “And I don’t do permanent marks. I think that about covers it. Any objections?”
Gil shakes his head. “None,” he says. “May I explain how this works, with the three of us?”
“Please, sir,” Sam says.
Gil smiles a little. “You answer to me,” he says. “If I’m not around, you answer to Adam. If the three of us are together, and Adam gives you an order different than one I’ve given you, ignore him, unless we negotiate differently for a scene.”
Sam nods, relieved to hear it. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“We’ll give you down time and we’ll make sure you stay hydrated and fed and all that,” Gil continues. “But what we’d like, for the next three days, is for you to let us take care of you.”
“This sounds a bit too good to be real, sir,” Sam says after a moment.
“We promise it’s not,” Adam says lightly.
Sam swallows. “No, sir,” he says. “I mean, yes, sir.”
“Relax, Sam,” Adam says. “If you’re uncomfortable with this, with any part of us, tell us and it stops. Our goal isn’t to break you.”
“Not without promising to put you back together, at any rate,” Gil says.
Sam looks down at his hands. “Sir, may I ask a question?” he asks.
“You can ask anything you want,” Gil says.
“You said I’m the fourth person you’ve invited home like this,” Sam says slowly. “What happened with the other three?”
“One turned us down but became a platonic friend,” Gil says. “One said yes and ended up being an occasional third for a few years before meeting the love of his life. He’s still a close friend. The third said yes, but chose not to see us again after the initial weekend. We’ve stayed in touch, and about five years ago he moved to California, so we see him less often.”
For some reason, Sam relaxes a bit at hearing that, but he doesn’t know why. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you, sir.”
“Of course,” Gil says. “Is there anything else I can answer for you?”
“Not right now, sir, thank you,” Sam says.
“Will you let us take care of you for a few days, Sam?” Adam asks.
Sam looks at him, then at Gil, and wonders what he’s getting himself into. “Yes, sir,” he says. “Whatever-whatever you want.”
“What I want,” Adam says softly, “is for you to kiss me, Sam.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam whispers, but it’s less him kissing Adam than Adam’s hand sliding into his hair and Adam’s mouth claiming his own. Sam feels himself sliding down and doesn’t try to fight it, just lets himself fall and go loose and pliant.
Even one kiss is enough to make him hard, and Adam doesn’t stop kissing him long enough to let him catch his breath. Sam shifts against the seat, restless and feeling too constricted by his clothes.
“Adam,” Gil says, and Adam draws back slowly. Sam swallows, his lips feeling bruised and swollen and his cock achingly hard.
“We’re almost home,” Adam says, resting a hand on Sam’s thigh. Sam slumps a little in relief, but it really is only a minute later when the limo slows to a stop and the door opens. Adam gets out with a word for the driver, and Sam slips behind him, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
“Worried about gossip?” Gil murmurs, coming up behind Sam.
“Should I be, sir?” Sam asks back.
“No,” Gil says. “I’ve known Drew for years.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam says. Honestly, he doesn’t care much for himself, but any gossip about him might drag Christian into it, and that’s not fair.
The big stone and brick house has an alarm code, but only one lock, and by the time Gil has the door open Adam’s joined them on the stoop. There’s a light on in the hallway, and a small table, where Gil tosses his keys into a blue bowl. The house smells-green, is the only way Sam can put it, and when he looks around, he sees a vibrantly healthy hanging plant and what appears to be a small potted tree sitting next to a window.
“Do you want anything to drink, Sam?” Gil asks.
“No, sir, thank you,” Sam says, although his mouth has gone dry.
Adam laughs softly, resting his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Sam,” he says. “We won’t eat you alive.”
“I’m not so sure of that, sir,” Sam says without thinking.
“Well,” Gil says. “It depends on your definiti-“
“Gil,” Adam cuts him off. “Really?” He sighs. “He’s hopeless with bad jokes,” he tells Sam.
“At least he didn’t say I’m just hopeless,” Gil points out.
Sam smiles a little. “I’m not sure hopeless is the right word, sir,” he says. “Possibly eccentric.”
“Which is insanity if you’re broke,” Gil says.
“Which, sir, you’re not,” Sam says. “Number…two is it this year, on the Forbes list?”
Gil shrugs carelessly. “Something like that. I don’t pay attention.”
“I do,” Adam says. “One of us has to.”
“Before we stand here and banter all night, I’m moving this conversation,” Gil says. “And getting out of this straitjacket. Come on.” He gestures for Sam to follow him, and Gil leads him through the dark house to the master suite at the back of the first floor, complete with sitting area-slash-small office and a door leading to the enclosed lap pool a few steps below.
But Sam’s expecting to see more-well, lavish furnishings, and he doesn’t. It’s really more minimalistic, he thinks, looking around. Even the small workstation area is spare and neat. Space, sure, there’s plenty of that. But no TV, no antique anything, just a textured blue rug under the bed and crisp white sheets under a blue-and-green quilt.
“Confused, Sam?” Adam asks.
“Not quite what I expected, sir,” Sam admits.
“Good,” Gil says. “I don’t like being expected.”
“What do you like, sir?” Sam asks quietly.
Gil smiles. “I’ll let you find out. Come here, please.”
“Sir,” Sam says, taking the few steps to stand in front of Gil. It’s a little disconcerting to realize that Gil’s a couple inches shorter than him. He seems like he should be as tall as Adam.
But Gil leans up just a little and kisses him, and Sam closes his eyes and realizes two things: one, that height doesn’t matter a damn thing where Gil’s concerned, and two, that he’s never going to make it out of subspace this weekend.
He sinks to his knees when Gil lets him go, unable to stay standing. “Gil, I think you broke him,” Adam says. “And so early, too.”
“He’s not broken,” Gil says; Sam can feel Gil watching him. “Just down. Am I right, Sam?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam murmurs.
“You’re allowed to stand,” Adam comments. “Just for the record. Don’t get me wrong, you look amazing on your knees, but you don’t have to stay there, for the moment.”
“No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Sam says, but he stays where he is for another moment, watching Gil shrug out of his tux jacket and toss it carelessly across the back of a chair in the sitting area. That makes him wince, so he gets up and picks up the jacket, smoothing out the fabric. “May I hang this up, sir?”
Gil laughs. “Does my disregard for fashion bother you? It needs to go to the cleaners anyway, Sam.”
“Sir, but it can at least be hung up in its bag when you take it in,” Sam says.
“He’s got you there, Gil,” Adam says. He opens a door, revealing an extensive walk-in closet. “Come here, I’ll show you where it goes.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sam does, in fact, hang up the jacket. And the rest of Gil’s tux, and put his shoes away and put his cufflinks and his shirt studs in the box Adam shows him. Adam, meanwhile, manages to put away his own clothing without resorting to the chair as clothes hanger.
“This is backwards,” Gil says when Sam’s gotten him down to his briefs and Adam’s zipping the bag on his own tux. “Adam, don’t you think this is backwards?”
Sam personally thinks he’s grateful to have had the tux to focus on, because if all he’d done was watch Gil get undressed, he’d have gone back to his knees and stayed there. Martial artist, built; Jesus, Sam’s toast. Adam’s not as built, but he’s long and lean and Sam wants to see his hair out of its braid, wonders what that’d feel like.
“I do,” Adam agrees.
“I don’t know, sir, I kind of like the way things look from here,” Sam says, smiling a little.
Gil laughs. “Please undress for me, Sam.”
“Sir,” Sam murmurs, already slipping out of his tux jacket. There’s a spare hanger-several spare hangers, really-in the closet and he hangs up his own clothes neatly, shoes lined up underneath. His socks get tucked in one shoe, his boxer briefs folded and laid over the other, and he sinks to his knees again, hands clasped behind his back.
“Beautiful,” Adam says softly. “Absolutely perfect.”
Sam’s cheeks heat and he ducks his head. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbles.
“Let’s move this to the bed,” Gil says. “Sam, come to me, please.”
“Sir,” Sam says, unsure for a moment whether to get up or not. He hasn’t been told to crawl, though, and Adam did say he could stand. Also, crawling on hardwood is a bitch and a half. He gets to his feet, walking over to Gil.
Gil curls a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him, hard and deep. Sam groans and melts into Gil, vaguely aware of Adam’s hands on his shoulders and wrists. He’s not quite with it enough to move, though, and he stumbles when Adam backs him up a step. “Easy,” Adam murmurs. “Gil, let him go for a moment.”
Adam gets him on the bed, sitting with Adam kneeling behind him, pressed close against his back. “Give me your wrists, sweetheart,” Adam says, kissing his jaw, and Sam closes his eyes and leans back.
“He won’t let you go,” Gil says, resting one knee on the bed. “You can fight it if you want, but he won’t let you go.”
“You don’t want that, though, do you?” Adam asks, tightening his grip just a little. Sam shudders and shakes his head.
“Sir,” he whispers. “Please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” Adam asks, even as he kisses Sam’s throat, nips at his earlobe. “Tell me what you need.”
“Anything,” Sam says. He lets his head fall back against Adam’s shoulder, baring his throat. “Please, anything you want.”
Gil crawls onto the bed, over Sam, and bites him, just over his pulse, hard enough to sting but soft enough not to bruise. Sam gasps, arching up under Gil, pulling against Adam’s hold on his wrists.
“Look at him,” Adam murmurs in Sam’s ear. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”
That’s one word for it, Sam thinks fuzzily, looking down at Gil. He’s all sleek muscles and smooth skin, a sprinkling of hair on his chest leading down to a happy trail Sam really, really wants to touch. Sam moves with him willingly, drawing his knees up when Gil presses his legs back. Gil bends down and bites Sam again, this time on his inner thigh and harder than before, making Sam cry out.
“You like being marked, don’t you?” Adam asks.
“I like-the reminder,” Sam manages. “Being able to feel it after.”
“We’ll give you plenty of reminders,” Adam promises; Sam swallows hard.
But having marked him once, Gil seems content for the moment. He moves away for a moment, opening a drawer in the nightstand. Sam’s not surprised to see him snag a few pieces of latex and a bottle of lube, tossing them onto the bed. Gil reaches into the drawer again, though, and Sam wonders why.
“Do you need this, or can you wait until I tell you to come?” Gil asks, holding up a simple cock ring.
Sam forces himself to think. He’s usually pretty good at keeping himself from coming, but he hasn’t had sex in ages. But he wants to show Gil and Adam that he can wait, that he doesn’t need help to keep from coming until he’s allowed.
“It’s all right,” Adam says, kissing Sam’s throat. “There’s no embarrassment in needing it.”
“No, sir,” Sam murmurs. “I’ll be okay without it, though.”
“You’re sure?” Gil asks.
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, praying he’s not wrong.
Gil nods and puts the cock ring away. Sam watches him pull on the glove and turns his head into Adam’s neck, closing his eyes. “Easy, sweetheart,” Adam says, kissing his temple. “Just let yourself feel.”
“Sir,” Sam says, although it comes out as one long moan as Gil slowly presses one finger into him. He twists a little, looking for a kiss from Adam, and makes a low sound when Adam kisses him long and deep, his hair brushing over Sam’s skin.
With Adam’s mouth on his and Adam’s hands on his wrists, Sam can’t really move or cry out when Gil swallows his cock down, but damn if he doesn’t try. He wasn’t expecting that at all and Jesus, but maybe he should have asked for the cock ring.
“It’s all right,” Adam says, punctuated with a bite to his lower lip. “You can come when he’s got his mouth on you.”
Thank God. “Thank you, sir,” Sam manages, and he’s not sure how he gets that out because Gil pushes another finger into him and makes him see stars, and between the fingers and Gil’s insanely talented, hot, wet mouth, he’s crying out and coming before he can even try and hold back.
Gil swallows, which Sam did not expect at all, and licks him clean until Sam’s squirming away, too sensitized to stand it. Gil kneels up, but he’s still got two fingers inside Sam, and when he shifts, they shift, and Sam groans, telling himself he’s not sixteen anymore and he can’t get hard again.
At least, not this soon.
“Gil,” Adam murmurs, and there’s a bit of shifting all around-Sam bites back a whimper-as Gil kisses Adam over his shoulder. He wishes he had a better view, because Jesus, that’s scorching hot.
Gil draws back, but kisses Sam lightly as he does. “I want to fuck you,” he says, his voice low but intent.
“Sir,” Sam whispers. “Please.”
“Lie back, sweetheart,” Adam says, releasing his wrists, and Sam doesn’t lie down so much as fall against the comforter, Adam kneeling by his head. Adam’s hard, he can see that, and he wants to do something about it, suck him or something, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“He likes to watch,” Gil says to Sam, smiling a little at Adam. “But if you ask, he’ll let you suck him off later.”
“Please, sir,” Sam says, swallowing.
Adam grins. “All right,” he says. “After Gil’s done with you.”
The way he says that makes Sam shiver, or maybe that’s just the way Gil’s stretching him, two fingers easy in and out, as if he’s got all the time in the world. Sam’s beginning to wonder if he might actually get hard again when Gil slides a third finger into him and twists at just the right angle to make Sam’s hips buck up and his cock jump.
“That’s it,” Adam murmurs, stroking Sam’s hair.
“I want you to come for us again,” Gil says softly.
Sam thinks with his two remaining brain cells that Gil’s used to getting what he wants, and from the way he’s fingering Sam, this isn’t going to be an exception. He wonders maybe if Gil’s into fisting at all, if they can try that before this all ends on Tuesday morning, but the thought’s there and gone in a moment, replaced by arousal and the ragged sound of his own breath.
He’s fully hard and almost panting with it when Gil’s fingers slip out of him; Sam hears the snap and rustle of a latex glove being discarded and the slither of a condom being put on. And then Gil pushes into him, one smooth thrust that makes him gasp and draw his knees up higher.
“Give me your hands, sweetheart,” Adam says, and Sam manages to push his hands over his head, Adam’s fingers closing around his wrists to hold him down. Sam whimpers, unable to stop the sound and not caring how desperate he sounds. He’s gone, so far down he doesn’t even know which way is up, not knowing anything other than this, than Gil inside him and over him and Adam’s hands on his wrists, Adam’s hair brushing his skin.
“Please,” he says, or thinks he does; he’s not really sure. “Please-“
“Not yet,” Adam says; Sam half-sobs, rocked back against the covers every time Gil thrusts into him, his arms pulling against Adam’s hold.
He has to come, needs to come, and he begs for it, shameless and desperate and wild, and the pressure just keeps building with every soft ‘not yet’ from Adam, every low groan from Gil. Sam isn’t sure but thinks he might possibly be on the verge of tears when Gil makes a low growl in the back of his throat and-
“Now,” Adam says, sharp and clear. “Now.”
Sam comes so hard he just-shatters, his senses overloading and reducing the world to a blurry gray thing for a moment or five. He’s vaguely aware of Gil driving into him one last time before holding still, of Adam’s grip on his wrists easing, but it’s all fuzzy and surreal.
What snaps him back into focus is the faint sound of distaste Gil makes as he pulls out, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash. Sam licks sweat off his upper lip, swallows, tries to sit up and fails.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Adam says, rubbing his wrists gently. “Take a moment.”
“Sir, but-“ Sam says, not sure where he’s going with that.
“But nothing,” Adam says. “You were beautiful, Sam, and we’re both very, very pleased with you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam murmurs, glancing up at Adam. “But you-“
“It’s not necessary,” Adam says, smiling a bit. “Gil did tell you I liked to watch.”
“Enough to get off from it, even,” Gil says. “I admit I wasn’t expecting that.”
“What can I say?” Adam asks. “You two were amazing together.”
Sam blushes a bit. “Thank you, sir,” he says again.
Gil leans down and kisses Sam, slow and easy. “I’m going to go get a couple washcloths,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He slides off the bed and Sam watches him walk to the bathroom, frowning a little when he sees that Gil seems to be favoring his left side.
Sam tries again to sit up and manages it this time, Adam’s arm coming around his shoulders. “I’ve got you,” Adam says, kissing his temple.
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, grateful for the support and starting to feel a little chilled.
When Gil returns, Sam frowns again, because Gil definitely wasn’t limping earlier but he is now, and he’s slower on the left when he crawls back onto the bed and hands Sam a washcloth. “Sir, are you all right?” he asks, cleaning up as best he can.
“Noticed that, did you?” Gil asks. “I’m fine, Sam. Adam and I were in a car accident a few years ago and I have a few residual aches on my left side as a result.”
“Just a bit of understatement there,” Adam says, taking the washcloth Gil hands him.
“Quiet, you,” Gil says. “Sam, just toss that in the hamper, we’ll deal with them in the morning.”
“Sir,” Sam says, following directions and moving out of the way as Gil and Adam push back the covers. “Um, where-“
“We’ll put you in the middle, unless you’re averse to the idea,” Gil says. “Otherwise, we’ll get shoved out of bed by Adam. He sprawls.”
“And Gil talks in his sleep, so if you hear him blathering on, just smother him with your pillow,” Adam says.
Sam smiles a little and slides under the covers, Gil facing him and Adam at his back. He swallows a yawn, then another one, realizing that it’s been a long day and he’s exhausted.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Gil murmurs, drawing the comforter up over them. “Good night.”
“Night, sir,” Sam murmurs, already drifting. He hears voices talking quietly for a bit, not sure if they’re in English or not, but there’s something somewhat comforting about them and the sound follows him down into his dreams.
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