FIC: Polyamorous Love-Knot Within; Cleaner Required - Part IV
Title: Polyamorous Love-Knot Within; Cleaner Required
Fandom: Askewniverse (follows on from Clerks II)
Characters: Becky, Randal and Dante.
Summary: "Becs, I love you, but we're not fucking for your amusement," Dante said, and ruffled her hair.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex, m/f sex, and m/f/m sex and all variations therein. Also, swearing. Lotsa swearing. You've seen Kevin Smith's movies, yeah?
A/N: This is still in the process of being adjusted slightly, but wingsmith has had a go with the big red pen of doom, so it gets to see daylight. Parts 1-3 have been edited and tidied up a little, but no serious changes have been made.
Oh, yes... did I mention that this is the big sex scene? *whistles innocently*
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
*
She's fucking huge, and wants to get fucked.
This is like the eleventh circle of hell or something, because she was certain that something other than bill-sharing was supposed to happen when the second of the guys in her life moved in, but, instead, she's been coddled and petted and mostly ignored in favour of her swelling belly. Maybe they both had issues with their mothers, or something, 'cause spending that much time obsessing about her stomach was just not normal. Besides, other than the kid doing acrobatics inside her, that regard was actually pretty boring.
Having spent the vast majority of her life dealing with tedium in the form of housework and actual work, Becky had been irrationally hopeful that this non-conformist arrangement would bring her something other than two cans of beer balanced on her stomach.
They were watching hockey on TV. By 'they', she mainly meant Dante and Randal, while she fondled Dante absent-mindedly and stared at Randal's profile, watching his throat work as he swallowed his beer. Would this stupid baby never be born? And after the birth, however many months of healing, and also probably a post-natal slump, and - God, she was never getting laid. "Can we fuck now?" She finally asked, mainly to watch Randal choke on his drink more than anything else.
Dante was looking down at her, flabbergasted, and she patted his cheek. "I'm a little horny right now, and may in fact mount the console joystick if I don't get some dick soon." Dante's mouth fell a little open, and she patted his cheek some more.
"Becs, look -" Randal started, then stopped. He took another swig of his beer. "Shit, Dante -" started again, because evidently arguing with a horny pregnant person was futile, "can't you talk to her? Because there's kink, and then there's deviancy, and I think that we're probably skirting the border, here."
Whatever Dante had been about to say was irrelevant, because that apparently struck him as fucking hilarious. "Says the man who got me a donkey show!"
Randal shifted uncomfortably at that. "That was for a special occasion," he muttered. "I wasn't suggesting we ran away and joined the show or anything."
Dante laughed harder, and squirmed out from underneath her. "Come on," he said, and grabbed Randal's arm, yanking him to his feet and sending the beer bottle flying. "I'm not going to introduce you to any deviant practices you haven't already taken part in."
Randal grimaced. "You're a cuntrag sometimes, you know that?" he said. "I've always known that you and those homosexual tendencies of yours have been trying to get into my pants, but this is beyond the pale."
If anything, this seemed to amuse Dante even more. He turned slightly, so that Becky could see his grin; teeth bared, he leaned in and put an arm around Randal's waist, tipping his head to whisper loudly, "come on, Randal. Come fuck my girl."
*
So, here they were. Given the ramping up of one-upmanship between the two of them, she wasn't too sure whether Randal actually wanted to be there, but, well, whatever. He was a big boy; he could walk out the door any time he wanted. Plus, it wasn't as if he hadn't already displayed those homosexual tendencies he was so fond of accusing Dante of. "It's not like you haven't already done this before, Randal, you pussy. Get on the fucking bed," - and the flush spreads across his cheeks again. Well, now. Evidently Randal - although happy to watch everything the entire pantheon of sexuality could produce - was quite dubious about participating in anything this deviant. Well, they'll just have to fix that, won't they?
She has seen films of this - poor-quality pornos, with big-breasted women wielding large whips, and guys with leather masks over their faces, bent double against the bed-frame. This… isn't like that. For one thing, there are no props (no whips, no leather masks and no video camera, thank fuck), and for another, Dante smiling at Randal yielding isn't precisely what she would have thought it would look like.
(It's a lot less creepy than you might have thought.)
Dante, then, is the first to settle on the bed, toeing his shoes off before kneeling hesitantly, his back against the headboard. After another moment's hesitation, Randal followed, one knee on the bed and the other leg still straight, toes touching the floor as if ready to flee. "You're not scared, are you, Randal?" Dante says, smiling, and Randal's spine straightens. He swears, full-mouthed and foul, and tucks his legs up, settling back on his haunches.
"This isn't a spectator sport, woman," he says over his shoulder, and tugs at his t-shirt.
She smiled.
It's a little hazy, after that. She isn't sure if it is Randal or Dante's hands that reach her first when she settles on the bed, stripping her t-shirt off carefully and stroking over the bulge of her belly. It's Dante that she leans against as Randal unties her drawstring pants and slowly eases them past her hips, looking anywhere but at her, his cheeks flaming crimson.
"This is all kinds of wrong," he muttered, looking up at her - at Dante? - with wide eyes.
"You need to get over it," Dante advised, and she could feel him smile against her cheek, his beard scratching against her skin. She wriggled her toes, impatient, and laughed a little as Randal yielded, pulling off her socks one by one. Then -
He stopped, squinted, and then carefully brought her bare foot up to eye-level. "You motherfucker - I knew it!"
"What?" Dante; a little startled, maybe, his hands settling on her belly and skimming up to cup her breasts.
"This is the random 'paint' I've been seeing everywhere - you weak-willed pussy, you've been painting her toenails!" And he's triumphant, face flush with victory.
Dante laughed, and shifted against her. She could feel him press against her, half-hard already, and she shivered.
Becky pulled her foot free and settled it in Randal's lap. "You caught us," she said, smiling. She wriggled her foot, and watched the muscles in Randal's jaw twitch at it.
"I did," he said, almost sighing, as if in doing so he had re-gained the upper ground.
"Would you like some help with this?" Dante asked, one inquisitive hand plucking at a bra strap, and she sighed contentedly.
*
It takes them a little while to get going. For one thing, she's fucking huge, and undressing her is a little complicated. For another, the mechanics of three-way sex would always be a little, hmmm, technical, and fucking turns out to be, funnily enough, fucking hard work. It does work out, eventually, though. It has to, because she's so determined and by that point, both guys had boners that could drill through the mattress.
It's a little - odd. She's fucked guys before, of course, and had a fair bit of anal action, too, so she's no virgin. And other than that brief flirtation with frottage, they're not breaching that territory yet with either of the guys, especially when Randal still has so much trouble seeing her as anything other than, as he put it, "nookie non grata". Besides which, doing all of this in such a deliberate, clinical manner is a little off-putting, and if Dante asked her if she was okay one more time, she might just twist his dick off. Randal, thank god, was his usual asswipe self; supremely uncaring. Well, sort of. He stayed perfectly still as Dante slowly lowered her atop him, only hissing a little as he entered her. "Okay?" he asked, a little uncertain, and at her nod, that was apparently that. He took her at her word, and only held on to her hips, soft and reassuring, as Dante settled behind her.
"You sure?" Dante asked again, and she contemplated flooring him.
She settled for, "yes-" hissed low and long, stretched out over the fullness of him as he entered her, hands at her hips and lips against the curve of her neck. "Fuck, Dante. Fuck -" as he started to move. God, he felt fucking huge inside her. They both did. Dante went slow, only rocking back and forth a little bit at a time, mindful of their precarious balance. Beneath them both, Randal held perfectly still, letting Becky ride him through Dante's thrusts. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open, a clean line from head to stem beneath her.
She settled a hand on his chest, bracing herself as she pushed back. There was plenty of room - she'd forgotten how fucking broad Randal was; he hid it damn well beneath those slack t-shirts - and she plucked at the sparse hair on his chest, watching him shudder and laughing a little. It wasn't - it wasn't like what she'd thought it would be. It wasn't the wild, unrestrained ride of the prep table, or anywhere else for that matter; it wasn't quick, grasping hands or sharp, deep thrusts. She didn't feel any of the sharp jolts through her body that such a fuck would ordinarily afford; none of the quick, spiralling orgasm that usually spilled out of her. Instead, it was as long and as slow as this entire fucking courtship, Dante's shallow thrusts and the heel of Randal's hand against her clit spreading warmth through her belly with each movement. It was almost like swimming, all three of them moving so slowly, so carefully, so fucking heedful of the smallest reaction in the other two, that one moan of pleasure was always echoed, spread and multiplied through them like a chain reaction.
"Jesus," Dante murmured, and she could feel his cross dig into her neck as he leaned against her. "Jesus, fuck -" and he reached around, his hand wrapping around Randal's cock where it went into her. He bumped into the hand that Randal had against her clit and Randal's eyes opened at the motion, so wide and dilated that she couldn't see any hint of blue in them at all.
"Jesus," she hissed in turn at Randal's reflexive movement, his hips snapping up and against her, and all of a sudden she so aware of the both of them inside her that she thought she could explode from it. "Fuck," she gasped, and the hand on Randal's chest curled into a claw, scratching a line down his chest to the thicker hair at his groin. "Fuck," and he bucked up again, his hips moving against his volition as he pulled his hand away and clutched at the bedsheets, straining to keep still. "Oh, sweet Jesus -" and Dante was panting against her neck, his own movements growing shaky and unsteady, the fingers of one hand digging into her hip, the other into Randal's cock. "I think I'm gonna -" almost there, almost there, Dante's hand grinding against her clit and the two of them moving within her 'til she couldn't bear it any more, almost there -
Beneath her, Randal groaned, low and deep in his belly, as he raked a hand across his chest, scrubbing at all the skin he could find. His eyes were startlingly wide-open, staring up her and Dante, his mouth moving. "Please," he hissed, "come on, Jesus, I need to fucking come, please, please, fuck, come on-" And he bit his lip, twisting beneath her.
Like a fucking signal, goddamn it, and warmth spreading across her limbs, her nerves on fire and everything full, so sweetly full that she was dizzy from it. She felt Dante's breath stutter across her back as he bit her, hands tightening on her to a bruising grip as she rode out her orgasm, caught between the two of them desperately holding on for her sake, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes and murmuring encouragements. I'm so greedy, she thought, warm and fuzzy from the feeling, her nerves still hot and twitching at the pulse of life inside her, and was immeasurably smug from it. It wasn't as strong as her other orgasms, but it lasted longer, as if it had been spread across the entirety of her body, from her toes to the tips of her fingers and Randal bringing her hand to his mouth, slick with her juices, to suck on the digits as he thrust up, and the curve of her ear that Dante was kissing, fingertips rubbing patterns across the taut skin of her belly and below and, Jesus. She could get used to this.
Caught and pinned between them, she watched their orgasms with prurient interest when it came to their turn; first the one, then the other, studying their faces and the bit lips and the flush spreading low across their collarbones, like they'd been dipped in sugar sauce. Dante's arms went out to their sides as he climaxed, holding them both up, and she watched, indulgent, as Randal snaked a hand down and curled it around Dante's wrist. So. Fucking. Cute.
"You boys are so pretty," she murmured, and felt the deep rumble of Dante's laugh against her ear, and Randal's sudden outraged look, lucidity spinning back as he awkwardly pushed at her belly.
"I think my legs're asleep," he muttered a little, the flush still there, and Dante laughed harder, and tickled the side of her neck as he kissed her, mirth spilling across them both.
They eased apart, both guys post-sex-sleepy, and she wide-awake, grimacing a little as she felt them withdraw; first one, then the other. Dante fetched towels and blankets, and cleaned her up carefully, tossing a warm, damp towel at Randal's head.
Randal scowled. "Hey, why don't I get the TLC? You're such a fucking pussy," and at that, Becky started to laugh, giggling to herself as all the energy suddenly left her, and she slipped into sleep, mid-chuckle.
*
Fandom: Askewniverse (follows on from Clerks II)
Characters: Becky, Randal and Dante.
Summary: "Becs, I love you, but we're not fucking for your amusement," Dante said, and ruffled her hair.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex, m/f sex, and m/f/m sex and all variations therein. Also, swearing. Lotsa swearing. You've seen Kevin Smith's movies, yeah?
A/N: This is still in the process of being adjusted slightly, but wingsmith has had a go with the big red pen of doom, so it gets to see daylight. Parts 1-3 have been edited and tidied up a little, but no serious changes have been made.
Oh, yes... did I mention that this is the big sex scene? *whistles innocently*
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
*
She's fucking huge, and wants to get fucked.
This is like the eleventh circle of hell or something, because she was certain that something other than bill-sharing was supposed to happen when the second of the guys in her life moved in, but, instead, she's been coddled and petted and mostly ignored in favour of her swelling belly. Maybe they both had issues with their mothers, or something, 'cause spending that much time obsessing about her stomach was just not normal. Besides, other than the kid doing acrobatics inside her, that regard was actually pretty boring.
Having spent the vast majority of her life dealing with tedium in the form of housework and actual work, Becky had been irrationally hopeful that this non-conformist arrangement would bring her something other than two cans of beer balanced on her stomach.
They were watching hockey on TV. By 'they', she mainly meant Dante and Randal, while she fondled Dante absent-mindedly and stared at Randal's profile, watching his throat work as he swallowed his beer. Would this stupid baby never be born? And after the birth, however many months of healing, and also probably a post-natal slump, and - God, she was never getting laid. "Can we fuck now?" She finally asked, mainly to watch Randal choke on his drink more than anything else.
Dante was looking down at her, flabbergasted, and she patted his cheek. "I'm a little horny right now, and may in fact mount the console joystick if I don't get some dick soon." Dante's mouth fell a little open, and she patted his cheek some more.
"Becs, look -" Randal started, then stopped. He took another swig of his beer. "Shit, Dante -" started again, because evidently arguing with a horny pregnant person was futile, "can't you talk to her? Because there's kink, and then there's deviancy, and I think that we're probably skirting the border, here."
Whatever Dante had been about to say was irrelevant, because that apparently struck him as fucking hilarious. "Says the man who got me a donkey show!"
Randal shifted uncomfortably at that. "That was for a special occasion," he muttered. "I wasn't suggesting we ran away and joined the show or anything."
Dante laughed harder, and squirmed out from underneath her. "Come on," he said, and grabbed Randal's arm, yanking him to his feet and sending the beer bottle flying. "I'm not going to introduce you to any deviant practices you haven't already taken part in."
Randal grimaced. "You're a cuntrag sometimes, you know that?" he said. "I've always known that you and those homosexual tendencies of yours have been trying to get into my pants, but this is beyond the pale."
If anything, this seemed to amuse Dante even more. He turned slightly, so that Becky could see his grin; teeth bared, he leaned in and put an arm around Randal's waist, tipping his head to whisper loudly, "come on, Randal. Come fuck my girl."
*
So, here they were. Given the ramping up of one-upmanship between the two of them, she wasn't too sure whether Randal actually wanted to be there, but, well, whatever. He was a big boy; he could walk out the door any time he wanted. Plus, it wasn't as if he hadn't already displayed those homosexual tendencies he was so fond of accusing Dante of. "It's not like you haven't already done this before, Randal, you pussy. Get on the fucking bed," - and the flush spreads across his cheeks again. Well, now. Evidently Randal - although happy to watch everything the entire pantheon of sexuality could produce - was quite dubious about participating in anything this deviant. Well, they'll just have to fix that, won't they?
She has seen films of this - poor-quality pornos, with big-breasted women wielding large whips, and guys with leather masks over their faces, bent double against the bed-frame. This… isn't like that. For one thing, there are no props (no whips, no leather masks and no video camera, thank fuck), and for another, Dante smiling at Randal yielding isn't precisely what she would have thought it would look like.
(It's a lot less creepy than you might have thought.)
Dante, then, is the first to settle on the bed, toeing his shoes off before kneeling hesitantly, his back against the headboard. After another moment's hesitation, Randal followed, one knee on the bed and the other leg still straight, toes touching the floor as if ready to flee. "You're not scared, are you, Randal?" Dante says, smiling, and Randal's spine straightens. He swears, full-mouthed and foul, and tucks his legs up, settling back on his haunches.
"This isn't a spectator sport, woman," he says over his shoulder, and tugs at his t-shirt.
She smiled.
It's a little hazy, after that. She isn't sure if it is Randal or Dante's hands that reach her first when she settles on the bed, stripping her t-shirt off carefully and stroking over the bulge of her belly. It's Dante that she leans against as Randal unties her drawstring pants and slowly eases them past her hips, looking anywhere but at her, his cheeks flaming crimson.
"This is all kinds of wrong," he muttered, looking up at her - at Dante? - with wide eyes.
"You need to get over it," Dante advised, and she could feel him smile against her cheek, his beard scratching against her skin. She wriggled her toes, impatient, and laughed a little as Randal yielded, pulling off her socks one by one. Then -
He stopped, squinted, and then carefully brought her bare foot up to eye-level. "You motherfucker - I knew it!"
"What?" Dante; a little startled, maybe, his hands settling on her belly and skimming up to cup her breasts.
"This is the random 'paint' I've been seeing everywhere - you weak-willed pussy, you've been painting her toenails!" And he's triumphant, face flush with victory.
Dante laughed, and shifted against her. She could feel him press against her, half-hard already, and she shivered.
Becky pulled her foot free and settled it in Randal's lap. "You caught us," she said, smiling. She wriggled her foot, and watched the muscles in Randal's jaw twitch at it.
"I did," he said, almost sighing, as if in doing so he had re-gained the upper ground.
"Would you like some help with this?" Dante asked, one inquisitive hand plucking at a bra strap, and she sighed contentedly.
*
It takes them a little while to get going. For one thing, she's fucking huge, and undressing her is a little complicated. For another, the mechanics of three-way sex would always be a little, hmmm, technical, and fucking turns out to be, funnily enough, fucking hard work. It does work out, eventually, though. It has to, because she's so determined and by that point, both guys had boners that could drill through the mattress.
It's a little - odd. She's fucked guys before, of course, and had a fair bit of anal action, too, so she's no virgin. And other than that brief flirtation with frottage, they're not breaching that territory yet with either of the guys, especially when Randal still has so much trouble seeing her as anything other than, as he put it, "nookie non grata". Besides which, doing all of this in such a deliberate, clinical manner is a little off-putting, and if Dante asked her if she was okay one more time, she might just twist his dick off. Randal, thank god, was his usual asswipe self; supremely uncaring. Well, sort of. He stayed perfectly still as Dante slowly lowered her atop him, only hissing a little as he entered her. "Okay?" he asked, a little uncertain, and at her nod, that was apparently that. He took her at her word, and only held on to her hips, soft and reassuring, as Dante settled behind her.
"You sure?" Dante asked again, and she contemplated flooring him.
She settled for, "yes-" hissed low and long, stretched out over the fullness of him as he entered her, hands at her hips and lips against the curve of her neck. "Fuck, Dante. Fuck -" as he started to move. God, he felt fucking huge inside her. They both did. Dante went slow, only rocking back and forth a little bit at a time, mindful of their precarious balance. Beneath them both, Randal held perfectly still, letting Becky ride him through Dante's thrusts. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open, a clean line from head to stem beneath her.
She settled a hand on his chest, bracing herself as she pushed back. There was plenty of room - she'd forgotten how fucking broad Randal was; he hid it damn well beneath those slack t-shirts - and she plucked at the sparse hair on his chest, watching him shudder and laughing a little. It wasn't - it wasn't like what she'd thought it would be. It wasn't the wild, unrestrained ride of the prep table, or anywhere else for that matter; it wasn't quick, grasping hands or sharp, deep thrusts. She didn't feel any of the sharp jolts through her body that such a fuck would ordinarily afford; none of the quick, spiralling orgasm that usually spilled out of her. Instead, it was as long and as slow as this entire fucking courtship, Dante's shallow thrusts and the heel of Randal's hand against her clit spreading warmth through her belly with each movement. It was almost like swimming, all three of them moving so slowly, so carefully, so fucking heedful of the smallest reaction in the other two, that one moan of pleasure was always echoed, spread and multiplied through them like a chain reaction.
"Jesus," Dante murmured, and she could feel his cross dig into her neck as he leaned against her. "Jesus, fuck -" and he reached around, his hand wrapping around Randal's cock where it went into her. He bumped into the hand that Randal had against her clit and Randal's eyes opened at the motion, so wide and dilated that she couldn't see any hint of blue in them at all.
"Jesus," she hissed in turn at Randal's reflexive movement, his hips snapping up and against her, and all of a sudden she so aware of the both of them inside her that she thought she could explode from it. "Fuck," she gasped, and the hand on Randal's chest curled into a claw, scratching a line down his chest to the thicker hair at his groin. "Fuck," and he bucked up again, his hips moving against his volition as he pulled his hand away and clutched at the bedsheets, straining to keep still. "Oh, sweet Jesus -" and Dante was panting against her neck, his own movements growing shaky and unsteady, the fingers of one hand digging into her hip, the other into Randal's cock. "I think I'm gonna -" almost there, almost there, Dante's hand grinding against her clit and the two of them moving within her 'til she couldn't bear it any more, almost there -
Beneath her, Randal groaned, low and deep in his belly, as he raked a hand across his chest, scrubbing at all the skin he could find. His eyes were startlingly wide-open, staring up her and Dante, his mouth moving. "Please," he hissed, "come on, Jesus, I need to fucking come, please, please, fuck, come on-" And he bit his lip, twisting beneath her.
Like a fucking signal, goddamn it, and warmth spreading across her limbs, her nerves on fire and everything full, so sweetly full that she was dizzy from it. She felt Dante's breath stutter across her back as he bit her, hands tightening on her to a bruising grip as she rode out her orgasm, caught between the two of them desperately holding on for her sake, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes and murmuring encouragements. I'm so greedy, she thought, warm and fuzzy from the feeling, her nerves still hot and twitching at the pulse of life inside her, and was immeasurably smug from it. It wasn't as strong as her other orgasms, but it lasted longer, as if it had been spread across the entirety of her body, from her toes to the tips of her fingers and Randal bringing her hand to his mouth, slick with her juices, to suck on the digits as he thrust up, and the curve of her ear that Dante was kissing, fingertips rubbing patterns across the taut skin of her belly and below and, Jesus. She could get used to this.
Caught and pinned between them, she watched their orgasms with prurient interest when it came to their turn; first the one, then the other, studying their faces and the bit lips and the flush spreading low across their collarbones, like they'd been dipped in sugar sauce. Dante's arms went out to their sides as he climaxed, holding them both up, and she watched, indulgent, as Randal snaked a hand down and curled it around Dante's wrist. So. Fucking. Cute.
"You boys are so pretty," she murmured, and felt the deep rumble of Dante's laugh against her ear, and Randal's sudden outraged look, lucidity spinning back as he awkwardly pushed at her belly.
"I think my legs're asleep," he muttered a little, the flush still there, and Dante laughed harder, and tickled the side of her neck as he kissed her, mirth spilling across them both.
They eased apart, both guys post-sex-sleepy, and she wide-awake, grimacing a little as she felt them withdraw; first one, then the other. Dante fetched towels and blankets, and cleaned her up carefully, tossing a warm, damp towel at Randal's head.
Randal scowled. "Hey, why don't I get the TLC? You're such a fucking pussy," and at that, Becky started to laugh, giggling to herself as all the energy suddenly left her, and she slipped into sleep, mid-chuckle.
*