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Warning! The story that follows is Not Safe For Work! If you are under eighteen and reading this message, you should not tell anyone your real age go somewhere else immediately!
...Disclaimers taken care of? Okay.
So last night, I was reading White Collar fanfic, and noticing with amusement how much of it involved shipping with my personal OT3 for that show. And that reminded me of my other OT3, and how I'd considered writing up a ficlet on their situation if they really were a thing.
This is not that fic. This is the prequel to that fic, which may or may not be forthcoming somewhere down the line.
Title: Secrecy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Yuan/Martel(/Kratos)
Themes: m/f, voyeurism, solo
Summary: Kratos couldn't begrudge them their happiness, of course, but there was still a cold, uncomfortable pit of envy whenever he was left out.
There is an unstated routine in the camp of the as-yet-unofficially-dubbed Four Seraphim. It doesn't happen every night, but often enough that Kratos, shamefully, lies awake listening in the tent he shares with Mithos, a little too close to the tent Yuan and Martel share.
It's not like they don't try to be quiet. This is for Mithos' sake as much as anyone's, since while he's perfectly all right with them being together, he has made it quite clear that he doesn't want to know about anything more than quick kisses between them. So they wait long enough to let him and Kratos fall asleep, and keep quiet enough not to wake them. But the relative quiet, the hushed and slightly furtive nature, only fires Kratos' imagination that much more.
He can hear them beginning tonight, as he pretends he's not listening hard, trying to catch the distantly murmured words. It starts with Yuan's voice, in a low, almost purring tone. 'Are you awake?' Kratos can't actually hear the words, but that's what the tone asks. And then Martel replies, just as murmured but far more musical. 'What do you think?' She teases him, as she teases all of them, but there's more intent in this.
And that's when the shuffling begins. In his mind's eye, Kratos can see Yuan moving closer, nightclothes being gradually shed. Then near-silence for a while, punctuated only by occasional shifts, leaving his ears straining for-
A low groan, the first one being from Martel tonight, sends a spike of heat right down through his belly. It's followed by a quiet shushing, and more quiet shushing, and muffled laughter that leaves them both panting. Kratos is hard now as he pictures them, kissing passionately, nude bodies pressed close...but he has self-control. He can wait.
Now, like always, they're getting more into it. The shuffling is more purposeful now, the gasps and groans more frequent, if just as muffled. Kratos has to bite his lip to keep from groaning himself, as he pictures Yuan moving atop Martel's lovely form - or does she prefer to top him? The thought makes him nearly groan again, and he finally reaches into his sleep pants to palm his erection. Just enough to take the tingling edge off, as if showing restraint will somehow make the act less shameful.
And then there are frantic whispers in between panting breaths, for a few beautifully tense moments, and a shallow gasp, and nothing for what seems like a long time. Kratos' stroking hand has stilled while he listens harder, though he's practically quivering with tension now. He imagines Martel looks like when she tips her head back to pour water on her face, when the days are hot, that Yuan's expression mimics the odd grimace he sometimes wears when he's focusing deeply on something. And once that moment has passed, sleepy murmurs drift across the space between the tents, and Kratos knows the performance is done.
He waits as long as he can, running the images over again and again in his mind, postponing the inevitable moment when it's too much for his tenuous control. But as always, he's too aroused now to just sleep, and so he gives in, stroking himself hard and fast, mercilessly, just trying to get past this moment now that his control has slipped. Biting his lip to keep from making a sound, he comes at last, hot and thick over his own hand, and cleans himself up with a nearby handkerchief.
He'll wash his things when dawn comes. He doesn't want anyone to find out, not just because he's ashamed, but because they're happy, and he likes seeing them happy. It wouldn't be fair to burden them with his own lonesome spark of envy just because he's stuck on the outside.
His last thought before he drifts off to sleep is to wonder which one of them he's actually more jealous of.
...Disclaimers taken care of? Okay.
So last night, I was reading White Collar fanfic, and noticing with amusement how much of it involved shipping with my personal OT3 for that show. And that reminded me of my other OT3, and how I'd considered writing up a ficlet on their situation if they really were a thing.
This is not that fic. This is the prequel to that fic, which may or may not be forthcoming somewhere down the line.
Title: Secrecy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Yuan/Martel(/Kratos)
Themes: m/f, voyeurism, solo
Summary: Kratos couldn't begrudge them their happiness, of course, but there was still a cold, uncomfortable pit of envy whenever he was left out.
There is an unstated routine in the camp of the as-yet-unofficially-dubbed Four Seraphim. It doesn't happen every night, but often enough that Kratos, shamefully, lies awake listening in the tent he shares with Mithos, a little too close to the tent Yuan and Martel share.
It's not like they don't try to be quiet. This is for Mithos' sake as much as anyone's, since while he's perfectly all right with them being together, he has made it quite clear that he doesn't want to know about anything more than quick kisses between them. So they wait long enough to let him and Kratos fall asleep, and keep quiet enough not to wake them. But the relative quiet, the hushed and slightly furtive nature, only fires Kratos' imagination that much more.
He can hear them beginning tonight, as he pretends he's not listening hard, trying to catch the distantly murmured words. It starts with Yuan's voice, in a low, almost purring tone. 'Are you awake?' Kratos can't actually hear the words, but that's what the tone asks. And then Martel replies, just as murmured but far more musical. 'What do you think?' She teases him, as she teases all of them, but there's more intent in this.
And that's when the shuffling begins. In his mind's eye, Kratos can see Yuan moving closer, nightclothes being gradually shed. Then near-silence for a while, punctuated only by occasional shifts, leaving his ears straining for-
A low groan, the first one being from Martel tonight, sends a spike of heat right down through his belly. It's followed by a quiet shushing, and more quiet shushing, and muffled laughter that leaves them both panting. Kratos is hard now as he pictures them, kissing passionately, nude bodies pressed close...but he has self-control. He can wait.
Now, like always, they're getting more into it. The shuffling is more purposeful now, the gasps and groans more frequent, if just as muffled. Kratos has to bite his lip to keep from groaning himself, as he pictures Yuan moving atop Martel's lovely form - or does she prefer to top him? The thought makes him nearly groan again, and he finally reaches into his sleep pants to palm his erection. Just enough to take the tingling edge off, as if showing restraint will somehow make the act less shameful.
And then there are frantic whispers in between panting breaths, for a few beautifully tense moments, and a shallow gasp, and nothing for what seems like a long time. Kratos' stroking hand has stilled while he listens harder, though he's practically quivering with tension now. He imagines Martel looks like when she tips her head back to pour water on her face, when the days are hot, that Yuan's expression mimics the odd grimace he sometimes wears when he's focusing deeply on something. And once that moment has passed, sleepy murmurs drift across the space between the tents, and Kratos knows the performance is done.
He waits as long as he can, running the images over again and again in his mind, postponing the inevitable moment when it's too much for his tenuous control. But as always, he's too aroused now to just sleep, and so he gives in, stroking himself hard and fast, mercilessly, just trying to get past this moment now that his control has slipped. Biting his lip to keep from making a sound, he comes at last, hot and thick over his own hand, and cleans himself up with a nearby handkerchief.
He'll wash his things when dawn comes. He doesn't want anyone to find out, not just because he's ashamed, but because they're happy, and he likes seeing them happy. It wouldn't be fair to burden them with his own lonesome spark of envy just because he's stuck on the outside.
His last thought before he drifts off to sleep is to wonder which one of them he's actually more jealous of.