fic: Worst Threesome Ever
Er, posting fic makes me nervous, but at least it's something right? Wow, I should be doing schoolwork right now.
Anyway, Porn Battle fic, yay! I REALLY LOVE DOMESTIC THREESOMES, YOU GUYS.
Worst Threesome Ever
Brad/girl!Ray/Nate, NC17, 2k: Ray knows her life is all kinds of fucked-up. Like, a level of fucked-up most people don’t know about. She doesn’t need to be told that living in some kind of ménage-á-trois relationship with Brad and his goddamn commanding officer (okay, former, but the point still stands) is a little weird. Even without the commanding officer part. Possibly without the military part too
Ray knows her life is all kinds of fucked-up. Like, a level of fucked-up most people don’t know about. She doesn’t need to be told that living in some kind of ménage-á-trois relationship with Brad and his goddamn commanding officer (okay, former, but the point still stands) is a little weird. Even without the commanding officer part. Possibly without the military part too, because gays in the military! Watch out for your children!
But she goddamn loves her life, alright, and it’s not as if she’s going to hell because she lives in sin with another man, okay Dad. But then he gets concerned when Brad leaves to go on another tour (a woman alone in the house with no one to protect her, le gasp!). He doesn’t know Nate stays most nights, and she’s not going to kill him with that information.
“Having trouble sleeping again?” Brad says, because he’s fucking insane and can somehow tell when she’s awake even though her eyes are closed and her face is mashed into her pillow, turned away from him. The digital clock on her side blinks 3:42 in satanic red letters.
“Where’s Nate?” Ray answers, just for something to say.
“International calls,” Brad says. She can hear the eye-roll in his voice; it annoys them to no end that Nate brings work home when he’s got a lot to do. As soon as Brad steps off government-owned property, he’s done for the day, and it’s not as if Ray has a lot of responsibilities when she works at a 24-hour gym.
Nate doesn’t technically live with them, but he’s got his own office down the hall so he may as well. When she met Brad, lit up on adrenaline from a really shitty and superbly awesome gig, it didn’t take her long to figure out there were parts of his life he didn’t want to talk about. Which was fine, she knew what his job was.
But then she met Lt Nathaniel Fick at one of Rudy’s barbeques (her face at the offer of a veggie pattie is now the stuff of legend, according to Q-Tip. Fucking Q-Tip, why does she associate with such degenerates), and she spent an evening following Nate and Brad’s awkward geekboy banter, and watched Nate slowly redden even though he nursed two beers the entire night. She knows because she took fucking note.
The road from there to here was long and awkward, full of conversations Ray doesn’t want to think about having ever again. Ever. She might have said I love you once, her friend Jim or Johnnie or José at her back. But she doesn’t remember, and they don’t refresh her memory, and here she is, starfished out in their bed, her thigh brushing Brad’s hip.
“I think we should have sex right now,” she says.
In response, Brad lifts his hips off the bed so he can push his boxers down just far enough to pull out his soft cock.
“Can you do it without waking me?” he says, and when Ray turns to face him he hasn’t even got his eyes open, the bastard.
“I’ll try my best,” Ray promises, her voice practically bleeding sweetness. The corner of Brad’s mouth twitches - a truly gargantuan response.
She tosses off her blankets, pushing them down to the foot of the bed with her feet and wriggling out of her own boxers at the same time. The mattress shifts underneath her; Brad groans in mock annoyance, so she leaves her tshirt on. Fuck him. She straddles the tops of his thighs, reaching for his cock. Brad’s face is frustratingly still, even after his cock starts to fill, but he can’t help the little surge of his hips when the head of his cock catches a callus on her palm from moving heavy gym equipment. She feels a disproportionate amount of arousal, that she can make Brad’s body obey her against his will.
“Still asleep?” she whispers.
“Yes,” Brad whispers back, keeping his poker face. It’s official; she hates him. She hates him and his stupidly attractive face.
He swells in her palm, hard under the soft flesh. The slide of her hand gets easier and easier, and she watches, hungry. She just moves her hand up and down, up and down, a light pressure that must be driving Brad mad with impatience, if only he’d let it. The emptiness south of her stomach grows, until she’s hyperaware of how hot for it she’s gotten, just from getting Brad hard.
She raises herself up over Brad’s cock, fingers loose around the base as she rubs herself over him first, letting him slide through her slick until he hits the base of her clit, sending little shockwaves through her thighs, her spine. She’s not soaked, hasn’t been nearly enough time for that, but it’ll do, she’s too impatient for any more foreplay if Brad’s not participating.
When she finally sinks down on him, taking her sweet-ass time, Brad hisses, exhaling air between his teeth, and his hands come up to cradle her hips. Ray laughs.
She falls forward so her palms frame Brad’s face, settling into a rhythm. Her hair’s come loose from it’s ponytail as she tossed and turned in bed, and her bangs start sticking to her forehead; they’ve almost grown out now, thank fucking Christ. They were a flippant decision at her last bi-yearly haircut, and she’s regretted them ever since.
Then Brad thrusts up as she grinds down, and Ray shouts, that extra half-inch hitting exactly where she needs, making her toes curl with the force of it. Brad does that smug, self-satisfied half-smile thing he does, but his eyes are still closed, and frankly this is getting ridiculous. It’s more than a game now, it’s a tug of war to see if Ray can get Brad to give up his iron control.
So she slides a finger down her stomach, rubbing her clit briefly, before raising herself up and sinking down on two of her fingers alongside Brad’s cock.
Brad’s eyes pop open, “Ray, Ray, Ray, shit,” he says, almost babbling, and damn if that don’t get Ray hot, Brad’s fingers spasming on her hips.
“Fuck,” she says, the vowel stretched so far it hangs in the air like taffy. The pressure in her cunt fizzles along all her nerve endings until she swears she can feel it in the tips of her goddamn hair.
Then Brad’s head snaps to the side, where Nate is standing, backlit by the hall light. He must’ve made a noise on a completely different register, because Ray didn’t hear a thing. She doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there; they haven’t exactly been quiet.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t on the phone,” he says, voice thick. He’s leaning against the doorway, casual with his legs crossed at the ankle and his arms folded. It’s too dark to see his face, but Ray can imagine the slight flush to his cheeks, his lip mottled red-white where he’s bitten at the corner.
“C’mon Nate, ah,” Ray says as she rolls her hips down. She’s so full, stretched almost too wide. She’s only a small girl, what Brad calls heroin chic and what Nate would call delicate if he was looking to get his ass kicked.
“I’d rather watch,” Nate says, so Brad, being Brad, takes this as a personal fucking challenge. He tosses her off like she’s nothing - and that’s not a thing, no way - and rolls on top of her, hitching her leg up over his hip so high her hamstring twinges. She’s just not that fucking flexible. But he thrusts inside again, quick and dirty, the angle different, but so good.
She hopes Nate can see her face when she turns her head and gasps, her mouth wet and wide open. She imagines seeing her and Brad from the outside: the waistband of his boxers still trapped absurdly below his painfully white ass, just about the only part of him that never sees any sun. His hips snap into her, and little sounds drip unbidden from her lips, little soft ah-ah-ahs that shift into pleas, insults, c’mon, Brad, yeah - and when Brad starts losing his rhythm, one of her hands tears itself away from Brad’s back, sneaking between them, because they both know that she likes to be responsible for her own orgasms the best. No disrespect meant - she loves Nate’s mouth as much as the next man, if the next man is Brad - but there’s just no way no one can know her own clit like she does.
She comes almost immediately after that, her head thrown back into the pillow, and with every clench around Brad she can feel how big he is, still hard inside her. He keeps fucking her through it, until she’s an oversensitive mess, and fuck she loves the feel of cock inside her after she’s come, but she also really hates it, the way it makes her shiver and moan, so she says, “Come on Brad, what do you need, tell me what you need.”
“Keep talking, Christ, keep going,” he says, face pressed into her neck.
So immediately Ray says, “You want to tell you how you feel? Fuck, you know what it’s like after you’ve come and there’s still cock inside you, everything feels bigger, more sensitive, like there’s no room for anything else and you have no idea if you want it to stop or keep going forever -”
And just like that, Brad comes, filling her up.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling out and leaving a sticky trail of semen against her thigh. Ray wrinkles her nose.
“Still asleep?” she says
“Getting there,” he says, rolling away. He wipes his dick with a sheet, because he is gross, while she looks across to Nate.
“What would you like?” she says. She tries to say it all coy-like, but it probably comes across like she’s the girl that hands Nate his coffee at Starbucks every morning. She’s never been very flirty.
“I’m tired. Maybe a hand job?” Nate says, turning off the hall light and walking over to the bed. He’s still wearing his office slacks, for Christs’ sake.
“Not me. I’ve already been coerced into enough sexual deviancy for one evening,” Brad announces.
“And people say the romance is gone,” Ray says, getting up on her knees and pulling Nate in by the belt loops.
“You mean Brad says that,” Nate says, grinning down at her.
“Brad is people,” Brad says. His voice is muffled by his pillow.
Nate pulls his shirt over his head while Ray works on his fly. “Lie down,” she says, pushing him onto the bed once he’s naked. He’s a more than half-hard from watching them, so she hopes it won’t take long to get him off. She puts his mouth over him, sucking hard and running a finger from behind his balls to circle his asshole, and back again. When she lets him thread his fingers through her hair, pulling it out of the remainder of the ponytail, she’s giving him wordless permission to fuck her mouth. One of her few skills is that she can hold her breath for as nearly as long as Brad and Nate from horsing around in the pool, so she just relaxes her throat and holds on. Nate comes quickly, almost silently, like he’s being considerate of Brad lying next to them or something.
When she comes back from the bathroom after washing her mouth out and wiping off Brad’s come that’s dribbling down her leg, Brad and Nate are already asleep on opposite sides of the bed.
“No post-coital cuddling?” she says, but quietly. “Worst threesome ever.”
Anyway, Porn Battle fic, yay! I REALLY LOVE DOMESTIC THREESOMES, YOU GUYS.
Worst Threesome Ever
Brad/girl!Ray/Nate, NC17, 2k: Ray knows her life is all kinds of fucked-up. Like, a level of fucked-up most people don’t know about. She doesn’t need to be told that living in some kind of ménage-á-trois relationship with Brad and his goddamn commanding officer (okay, former, but the point still stands) is a little weird. Even without the commanding officer part. Possibly without the military part too
Ray knows her life is all kinds of fucked-up. Like, a level of fucked-up most people don’t know about. She doesn’t need to be told that living in some kind of ménage-á-trois relationship with Brad and his goddamn commanding officer (okay, former, but the point still stands) is a little weird. Even without the commanding officer part. Possibly without the military part too, because gays in the military! Watch out for your children!
But she goddamn loves her life, alright, and it’s not as if she’s going to hell because she lives in sin with another man, okay Dad. But then he gets concerned when Brad leaves to go on another tour (a woman alone in the house with no one to protect her, le gasp!). He doesn’t know Nate stays most nights, and she’s not going to kill him with that information.
“Having trouble sleeping again?” Brad says, because he’s fucking insane and can somehow tell when she’s awake even though her eyes are closed and her face is mashed into her pillow, turned away from him. The digital clock on her side blinks 3:42 in satanic red letters.
“Where’s Nate?” Ray answers, just for something to say.
“International calls,” Brad says. She can hear the eye-roll in his voice; it annoys them to no end that Nate brings work home when he’s got a lot to do. As soon as Brad steps off government-owned property, he’s done for the day, and it’s not as if Ray has a lot of responsibilities when she works at a 24-hour gym.
Nate doesn’t technically live with them, but he’s got his own office down the hall so he may as well. When she met Brad, lit up on adrenaline from a really shitty and superbly awesome gig, it didn’t take her long to figure out there were parts of his life he didn’t want to talk about. Which was fine, she knew what his job was.
But then she met Lt Nathaniel Fick at one of Rudy’s barbeques (her face at the offer of a veggie pattie is now the stuff of legend, according to Q-Tip. Fucking Q-Tip, why does she associate with such degenerates), and she spent an evening following Nate and Brad’s awkward geekboy banter, and watched Nate slowly redden even though he nursed two beers the entire night. She knows because she took fucking note.
The road from there to here was long and awkward, full of conversations Ray doesn’t want to think about having ever again. Ever. She might have said I love you once, her friend Jim or Johnnie or José at her back. But she doesn’t remember, and they don’t refresh her memory, and here she is, starfished out in their bed, her thigh brushing Brad’s hip.
“I think we should have sex right now,” she says.
In response, Brad lifts his hips off the bed so he can push his boxers down just far enough to pull out his soft cock.
“Can you do it without waking me?” he says, and when Ray turns to face him he hasn’t even got his eyes open, the bastard.
“I’ll try my best,” Ray promises, her voice practically bleeding sweetness. The corner of Brad’s mouth twitches - a truly gargantuan response.
She tosses off her blankets, pushing them down to the foot of the bed with her feet and wriggling out of her own boxers at the same time. The mattress shifts underneath her; Brad groans in mock annoyance, so she leaves her tshirt on. Fuck him. She straddles the tops of his thighs, reaching for his cock. Brad’s face is frustratingly still, even after his cock starts to fill, but he can’t help the little surge of his hips when the head of his cock catches a callus on her palm from moving heavy gym equipment. She feels a disproportionate amount of arousal, that she can make Brad’s body obey her against his will.
“Still asleep?” she whispers.
“Yes,” Brad whispers back, keeping his poker face. It’s official; she hates him. She hates him and his stupidly attractive face.
He swells in her palm, hard under the soft flesh. The slide of her hand gets easier and easier, and she watches, hungry. She just moves her hand up and down, up and down, a light pressure that must be driving Brad mad with impatience, if only he’d let it. The emptiness south of her stomach grows, until she’s hyperaware of how hot for it she’s gotten, just from getting Brad hard.
She raises herself up over Brad’s cock, fingers loose around the base as she rubs herself over him first, letting him slide through her slick until he hits the base of her clit, sending little shockwaves through her thighs, her spine. She’s not soaked, hasn’t been nearly enough time for that, but it’ll do, she’s too impatient for any more foreplay if Brad’s not participating.
When she finally sinks down on him, taking her sweet-ass time, Brad hisses, exhaling air between his teeth, and his hands come up to cradle her hips. Ray laughs.
She falls forward so her palms frame Brad’s face, settling into a rhythm. Her hair’s come loose from it’s ponytail as she tossed and turned in bed, and her bangs start sticking to her forehead; they’ve almost grown out now, thank fucking Christ. They were a flippant decision at her last bi-yearly haircut, and she’s regretted them ever since.
Then Brad thrusts up as she grinds down, and Ray shouts, that extra half-inch hitting exactly where she needs, making her toes curl with the force of it. Brad does that smug, self-satisfied half-smile thing he does, but his eyes are still closed, and frankly this is getting ridiculous. It’s more than a game now, it’s a tug of war to see if Ray can get Brad to give up his iron control.
So she slides a finger down her stomach, rubbing her clit briefly, before raising herself up and sinking down on two of her fingers alongside Brad’s cock.
Brad’s eyes pop open, “Ray, Ray, Ray, shit,” he says, almost babbling, and damn if that don’t get Ray hot, Brad’s fingers spasming on her hips.
“Fuck,” she says, the vowel stretched so far it hangs in the air like taffy. The pressure in her cunt fizzles along all her nerve endings until she swears she can feel it in the tips of her goddamn hair.
Then Brad’s head snaps to the side, where Nate is standing, backlit by the hall light. He must’ve made a noise on a completely different register, because Ray didn’t hear a thing. She doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there; they haven’t exactly been quiet.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t on the phone,” he says, voice thick. He’s leaning against the doorway, casual with his legs crossed at the ankle and his arms folded. It’s too dark to see his face, but Ray can imagine the slight flush to his cheeks, his lip mottled red-white where he’s bitten at the corner.
“C’mon Nate, ah,” Ray says as she rolls her hips down. She’s so full, stretched almost too wide. She’s only a small girl, what Brad calls heroin chic and what Nate would call delicate if he was looking to get his ass kicked.
“I’d rather watch,” Nate says, so Brad, being Brad, takes this as a personal fucking challenge. He tosses her off like she’s nothing - and that’s not a thing, no way - and rolls on top of her, hitching her leg up over his hip so high her hamstring twinges. She’s just not that fucking flexible. But he thrusts inside again, quick and dirty, the angle different, but so good.
She hopes Nate can see her face when she turns her head and gasps, her mouth wet and wide open. She imagines seeing her and Brad from the outside: the waistband of his boxers still trapped absurdly below his painfully white ass, just about the only part of him that never sees any sun. His hips snap into her, and little sounds drip unbidden from her lips, little soft ah-ah-ahs that shift into pleas, insults, c’mon, Brad, yeah - and when Brad starts losing his rhythm, one of her hands tears itself away from Brad’s back, sneaking between them, because they both know that she likes to be responsible for her own orgasms the best. No disrespect meant - she loves Nate’s mouth as much as the next man, if the next man is Brad - but there’s just no way no one can know her own clit like she does.
She comes almost immediately after that, her head thrown back into the pillow, and with every clench around Brad she can feel how big he is, still hard inside her. He keeps fucking her through it, until she’s an oversensitive mess, and fuck she loves the feel of cock inside her after she’s come, but she also really hates it, the way it makes her shiver and moan, so she says, “Come on Brad, what do you need, tell me what you need.”
“Keep talking, Christ, keep going,” he says, face pressed into her neck.
So immediately Ray says, “You want to tell you how you feel? Fuck, you know what it’s like after you’ve come and there’s still cock inside you, everything feels bigger, more sensitive, like there’s no room for anything else and you have no idea if you want it to stop or keep going forever -”
And just like that, Brad comes, filling her up.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling out and leaving a sticky trail of semen against her thigh. Ray wrinkles her nose.
“Still asleep?” she says
“Getting there,” he says, rolling away. He wipes his dick with a sheet, because he is gross, while she looks across to Nate.
“What would you like?” she says. She tries to say it all coy-like, but it probably comes across like she’s the girl that hands Nate his coffee at Starbucks every morning. She’s never been very flirty.
“I’m tired. Maybe a hand job?” Nate says, turning off the hall light and walking over to the bed. He’s still wearing his office slacks, for Christs’ sake.
“Not me. I’ve already been coerced into enough sexual deviancy for one evening,” Brad announces.
“And people say the romance is gone,” Ray says, getting up on her knees and pulling Nate in by the belt loops.
“You mean Brad says that,” Nate says, grinning down at her.
“Brad is people,” Brad says. His voice is muffled by his pillow.
Nate pulls his shirt over his head while Ray works on his fly. “Lie down,” she says, pushing him onto the bed once he’s naked. He’s a more than half-hard from watching them, so she hopes it won’t take long to get him off. She puts his mouth over him, sucking hard and running a finger from behind his balls to circle his asshole, and back again. When she lets him thread his fingers through her hair, pulling it out of the remainder of the ponytail, she’s giving him wordless permission to fuck her mouth. One of her few skills is that she can hold her breath for as nearly as long as Brad and Nate from horsing around in the pool, so she just relaxes her throat and holds on. Nate comes quickly, almost silently, like he’s being considerate of Brad lying next to them or something.
When she comes back from the bathroom after washing her mouth out and wiping off Brad’s come that’s dribbling down her leg, Brad and Nate are already asleep on opposite sides of the bed.
“No post-coital cuddling?” she says, but quietly. “Worst threesome ever.”