Amour de Trois: Chapter 3/3 part b
Title: Amour de Trois
Genre: Comedy/Romance
Pairings/Characters: Fakir/Mytho/Duck
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: awkwardness, first time
Summary: The prince and the knight and the...duck? In a bed! Duck swears she hasn't watched those videos that Pike and Lilie were talking about.
Amour de Trois
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continuez
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“So you will have a baby after this, Duck?” He asked, and turned towards said girl, eyes shinning.
This was never going to end.
“A-a-a-baby?! I can't have a baby now! I mean I could, at least, bi-bi-biological-ly, but I mean, not that having Fakir's baby would be terrible or anything but I mean, I dunno if I even want a baby ever and right now we're too young, and just because-” Duck was working herself up into a fit.
“No Mytho, Duck will not be having a baby.” Fakir wondered if Duck would ever learn to give Mytho curt answers; they were what always worked best.
Duck quieted, filled with embarrassment. She had to learn to stop flying off the handle like that.
“I have condoms in my dresser.” Fakir said aloud. Duck glanced away at the word, and Mytho asked:
“Condoms, Fakir?” Already with the questions.
“You'll understand in a moment.” Fakir felt ready to burst. He was quickly tiring of being the one in control of the situation, and between Mytho's incessant questions and Duck's rambling, the stress was taking a toll on his libido; he could feel his erection flag as he stood up. He could Feel Mytho's eyes on him too, however, as he crossed the room to the nightstand, and suddenly he was self-conscious. Was Duck watching too? He forced himself not to turn and check.
He found the condoms easily and grabbed a handful, snatching the small plastic container beside them and trying not the blush about the fact that he even had them in the first place. He'd only wanted to be prepared if the opportunity ever presented itself.
The few feet from the dresser to the bed felt like miles. Fakir was trying to talk himself through the mechanics, but he wasn't quite sure how they were going to pan out himself. Mytho had a certain lack of...consideration that he really didn't want to push on Duck, and it wasn't that he was exactly adverse to letting Mytho-
Fakir found himself at the bed before he could finish his thoughts. As if in slow motion, he placed the condoms and the small container down, and then sat down himself.
He took a deep breath, meeting Mytho's eyes, and drew several conclusions, “Look, I think it's best, that-that, I'll do it to Duck, and you do it to me. Okay?” Fakir felt immature for his childish vocabulary, but Duck merely nodded vigorously with a red face. Fakir braced himself at Mytho's quizzical expression, but Mytho didn't ask anything.
“Okay, well since-I mean-there's a certain amount of s-s-stretching involved for a guy-so I have to...” He trailed off, feeling thoroughly humiliated. There was no way he was going to be able to do that to himself with Mytho blatantly staring at him, and Duck-well Duck being there at all was more than enough.
He reached for the lube anyway, and a thousand questions danced in Mytho's eyes. He popped open the lid and spread some of the substance on his fingertips. He closed his eyes (there was no way he could look) and reached behind himself. He swallowed at the cool sensation as his fingertips slid between his cheeks; and then a soft prodding.
Duck couldn't believe what was happening. That was how it worked with two guys? She found herself a little grossed out. She'd figured out before how it was done, but putting your fingers in there? It wasn't that Fakir was dirty or anything, actually he seemed like the type to shower too much, but still, it just didn't seem like something Duck would want to ever do. She glanced away, training her eyes on Mytho to keep herself distracted.
Mytho, as per usual, picked the opportune moment to ask questions.
“Why are you doing that, Fakir?”
Fakir could feel his body tense as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. This was something Fakir knew he couldn't even possibly begin explain to Mytho, and sure Mytho didn't have a heart and all, but did a heart have some unknown connection with common sense? Because Fakir hardly ever observed Mytho using any. Context clues, for heaven's sake.
The dark haired teen began focusing on his breathing again-he really wasn't supposed to do this if he was tense-until it was even and regular. He pushed his lube-slicked index finger a little further inside. Something about it was nerve-wracking, but he was fairly sure it was the people in the room, rather than the actual experience, because really the feeling wasn't so awful. Fakir inhaled another gulp of air, feeling like a fish out of water in more ways than one, and pushed until his finger was sheathed to the third knuckle.
It was an unfamiliar although not completely unpleasant sensation, just a feeling of something in there that wasn't really supposed to be in there, and it made him feel sort of...too full, or something. He let out a swoosh of air from his lungs and swallowed, pressing the finger further inside himself. Fakir began attempting a slight thrusting motion-almost-just a shallow in-and-out press with one finger, but almost immediately he felt an uncomfortable chafing sensation and his arm began to tire.
Fakir had heard that you were supposed to use a lot of lube, and clearly he hadn't used enough. Getting more, however, meant completely removing his hand and then it would be like starting the process all over again and he really wasn't sure he could quite bear that. A shuffling noise almost made him tense again, and he suddenly remembered that there were two other people on the bed with him. Dammit. He was such an idiot. There were two other people waiting while he just took his good ol' time taking a millennium just to finger himself.
He wondered if it was supposed to take so long and figured it probably wasn't ,so he kept going with his finger anyway-lube half dried and body tense. The anxiety was beginning to get to him, that he was performing below-acceptable, even if he knew that neither Mytho nor Duck had any idea about what was sexually acceptable in the first place. He could feel himself wavering as he attempted to add a second finger.
Mytho watched the entire ordeal with complete fascination, as did Duck, although her own curiosity was masked with embarrassment. The pale-haired boy watched his classmate with slight confusion, entranced as Fakir's chest heaved, wondering what exactly he was doing to himself with his other hand.
A plethora of unrecognizable emotions sped across Fakir's face. Strange little things that disappeared and reappeared with every intake of breath the other boy managed to make. Dark eyebrows knitted down in some sort of something... Mytho was fairly sure it wasn't anger, because Fakir wasn't yelling, although his face was red.
Mytho moved a little closer to him-he really wanted to know why Fakir was acting so strangely-but his classmate tensed and so he figured perhaps he should wait a moment. He continued to watch as Fakir's arm began some sort of regular motion, although for what, Mytho still couldn't see nor figure out. He hoped that the emotions he wasn't understanding weren't too important, because there were a lot of emotions flickering across Fakir's face that Mytho couldn't recognize.
Mytho searched Fakir's face for something-anything recognizable, and then, all of a sudden-there it was. Fakir's clenched eyes began to twitch and his body tensed and then, starting from Fakir's shoulders, an almost unnoticeable amount of trembling began. His motions stopped and Fakir's jaw tightened and his eyebrows-well, Mytho knew that emotion, it was one of his firsts-fear. Fear? Fakir was afraid of something?
Something strange welled in Mytho's chest as he crossed the bed. He glanced back at Duck, who shot him a confused and embarrassed look, but continued anyway.
Fakir tensed again as soft hands dropped to his shoulders. “Fakir?”
“Are you okay, Fakir?” Fakir wasn't sure how to answer. Technically, yes, he was fine. He was just feeling stressed and nervous and barely hard because he had two fingers in his ass and he needed more lube because it was starting to hurt but he had no idea where he'd dropped the lube and he was too embarrassed and humiliated to open his eyes to look for it!
Thinking about it just had Fakir tense and shaking even more, and he felt like such an idiot because he couldn't do anything right, and he was supposed to be the Knight, yeah right, some Knight-
“Why do you feel fear Fakir? Why are you afraid?” Mytho surmised that it might have to do with whatever he'd been doing to himself that Mytho couldn't see, so he pressed up against Fakir until he could see over his shoulders. He titled his head. All he saw were, two of Fakir's fingers pressed inside of his bottom.
Fakir attempted to move his hand forward again-ignoring Mytho-he was sure if he could just get this part over with he could-
Mytho watched with bewilderment as Fakir's hand began too move, and even more as he felt Fakir's body begin to tremble. Mytho placed his hand on Fakir's moving wrist. Tightened his grip just the slightest. Fakir's hand stilled.
“This is why you are afraid, Fakir?” Fakir froze.
“I'm not afraid, Mytho.” Fakir managed out through clenched teeth and eyes.
Fakir waited for confusion and naivety, “Can I help, Fakir?” was what Mytho asked instead. Fakir was fairly sure that Mytho didn't even know what he was offering, but then, Mytho always had had a knack for helping people and-well, he was a Prince at the end of the day, Fakir supposed.
Fakir's shoulders heaved and he swallowed. “Hand me the little bottle.”
Mytho retracted himself from Fakir, cold air taking his place, before resuming his former position. The two of them-hair contrasting in the sunlight (it wasn't even midday yet)-kneeled facing one another. When Mytho's head was at Fakir's shoulder-close enough so that Fakir could whisper and still be heard-he muttered, “Open it and put some on my hand.”
Fakir let his free hand wrap around Mytho's thin hips for balance. “This hand?” Mytho asked quietly, brushing against the hand that Fakir had twisted behind himself. Fakir nodded. “Not too much.” He mumbled nervously. Mytho pressed himself against Fakir to get a more accurate view, slowly pouring some of the liquid around Fakir's encased fingers.
Fakir attempted to wiggle the two-index and middle-but it was no use. The lubricant from earlier had already dried, and the stuff Mytho had poured had merely dripped around his palm. Inwardly cursing, Fakir began drawing his hand back, and slowly removed his fingers, chest heaving. Once he'd fully retracted them, he took a few deep breaths.
Apparently Mytho used context clues a bit more than he thought, because suddenly there was an entirely new set of coated fingers at his entrance. Fakir gasped and grabbed onto Mytho with his newly freed hand for support. He leaned his forehead on Mytho's shoulder.
Mytho pressed a finger forward and Fakir's body tensed. “Do we need more of this-this...?” Mytho stumbled for a word to describe the strange liquid.
“Lubricant.” Fakir offered. “Lubricant? Should I-” Mytho asked hesitantly. He was still fairly unsure of why Fakir needed this done in the first place, but if this was part of sex, then he supposed it didn't really matter.
“No-it's fine, just-do it already, it's fine.” Mytho pressed his finger forward again, and instead of bothering with a slow entrance, as Fakir might have, Mytho had his finger sheathed inside Fakir in one slick motion. Fakir was still trying to comprehend the situation when Mytho began pressing a second, wetter than the previous one-had he used more lube anyway?-to join in with the first.
Fakir tensed just the slightest, really, but somehow Mytho had noticed because-
“Is this bad, Fakir?” Fakir didn't say anything-how could he even begin to answer Mytho's questions in a state like this?-he opted instead for body language; a slight movement of his hips.
Mytho seemed encouraged and pressed in the second, and the sensation was much less painful than when he'd done it. Perhaps he really hadn't been using enough.
Mytho pressed his fingers in more-as much as he could-and Fakir was gritting his teeth and clenching his hands at Mytho skin. The last one had stung a bit. “What do I do?” The white-haired boy asked, unsure of how Fakir was feeling and if he was even remotely doing the correct thing.
“Just, move around a bit.” Fakir's voice seemed raspy and deeper than usual but less intimidating once it was being muffled against Mytho's skin. Mytho nodded and thrust his fingers in a few times, deeper, and then pulled them back and pushed back in again a little faster and deeper than Fakir liked.
Still unsure of what to do, the Prince began to experiment, scissoring his fingers and thrusting and exploring. Fakir didn't bother with embarrassing words like slower or softer or not so deep, just kept focusing on his breathing and telling himself that Duck really wasn't watching this whole thing just a few feet away.
Hoping he was doing this correctly, Mytho drew his fingers back, almost completely retracted them, before pushing back inside. The Knight was breathing heavily against him, although Mytho wasn't even sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Just when he was about to ask if he should stop, he decided to curl his fingers just a bit, and Fakir's whole body jerked with a stifled shout.
Startled and more confused than ever, Mytho ventured to ask another question, “Fakir...?” But the Knight in question was still breathing heavily and-what the hell was that?-he'd read that it would feel good, but after all the embarrassment and discomfort and pain he didn't think that good.
This time Fakir did say embarrassing things, “D-do that again.”
“Do what again?” Mytho hadn't even been paying much attention to what he was doing. “This?” Mytho asked, and curled his fingers again. It might have been considered dirty talk if Mytho wasn't so blatantly confused. Fakir could feel his hips automatically grind back in response. Fakir gave a jerky nod. He could feel the blood rushing to his prick.
Mytho, naïve as he was, was proving himself a fast learner. The Prince twisted his fingers a bit, simultaneously stretching and pressing against that spot again. Fakir wondered briefly what Duck was thinking, if she thought he was too girly or weak or such and idiot for being so stubborn about things.
The Knight decided that he needed to move thing along. Duck was literally just a sitting duck, and probably feeling left out. He pushed himself back against the fingers and arched his back just a bit. Mytho twisted and turned the slick digits inside him, so much that it was no longer uncomfortable, but just there. Like shoes that you needed to break in, or something. It was actually beginning to feel too good. So good that Fakir was beginning to feel a warmth begin in his stomach.
“My-Mytho, add another finger.” Fakir muttered with a dry throat. There was shifting in which Mytho's stomach brushed against Fakir's cock, twitching and needy, but Mytho paid it no mind. A third finger pressed to join the others. Fakir grimaced; shit, fucking was really going to hurt, wasn't it?
Mytho pressed the tip inside without any hesitation, and as Fakir clenched his teeth, he thought about how he'd much rather be doing this to Mytho instead. But with the Prince, everything was new to him, and Fakir really couldn't bear to look at him when he was coiled in fear or twitching in pain. Everything was new to him as it was, it just wouldn't have been right. So instead Fakir sighed and attempted to relax his body.
The finger pressed past the second ring of muscle, and instead of stilling for a moment, Mytho immediately started dancing, but with his fucking fingers, pressing and bending and stretching the Knight's insides. He curled the three of them until Fakir had to call out, couldn't help it, and then he jabbed at the place again and again until it felt so good that he was shaking.
Fakir wanted to tell him to stop, that it was too much, and it was really, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. Mytho moved forward a bit, for better positioning perhaps, knee brushing against his pulsing cock, and then Fakir knew he needed it. He stopped thinking about Duck and about being embarrassed and failing as a Knight and just felt.
Mytho's other hand found Fakir's warm prick, brushed against it, loosely held it, and then tugged it lightly.
“Aaaahh...!” Fakir really couldn't believe he was making those noises. He wasn't making those noises.
Mytho wrapped his palm completely around his cock, thick and warm in his slender hand and began pulling. He figured that this was what he was supposed to be doing to Fakir. He knew that when Fakir had done it to him it had been good, better than good, and even though he couldn't exactly identify the feeling, he was sure Fakir could, and he hoped he liked it.
Mytho twisted and curled his fingers playfully and Fakir's back arched and his hips gyrated. His eyes snapped open for a brief moment, and over Mytho's shoulder he caught a glimpse of Duck, no longer watching them but sitting and watching the sheets awkwardly and uncomfortably and-dammit, Mytho's lack of inconsideration was excusable, but his own? Shit.
“A-Ahiru...!” He attempted, named mangled and broken by another of Mytho's unrelenting thrusts. Her head snapped up and emerald and cerulean eyes finally met. He stilled Mytho's wrist from moving in a sharp grip, and in a breathless but stern voice told him to wait. Mytho turned his head to find what was distracting Fakir so.
Unsure of what to say, Mytho said it for him.
“Fakir likes you too, Duck.” She swallowed and moved her hands to cover herself, nervous and self-conscious. Fakir figured he'd had more than enough anyway-enough with the stretching, that he'd probably be fine. He tugged Mytho's wrist again, and a little too roughly Mytho pulled his three fingers out.
Fakir's body tensed with pain for a brief moment before he inhaled deeply. They both turned towards her.
“Is it the same with you Duck? Can I do it to you?” Fakir swallowed, knowing exactly what sameness Mytho was referring to. Did Duck? She was so ridiculously naïve sometimes-too much sometimes-but then, she wouldn't have been Duck without it.
Mytho advanced on her fairly suddenly, crawling across rumpled sheets with a strange amount on enthusiasm. Duck looked surprised and almost afraid, flailing around as if she didn't know what to do, until finally Mytho was against her and she was lying on her back staring back into amber eyes.
Without warning or question (which was quite something for Mytho), he had Duck's lips captured in his own. Duck was surprised but not stupid-contrary to popular belief-and once she'd gotten a handle on the situation she began responding back with just as much fervor. Mytho's hands began to roam, much more confident than before, brushing across soft skin-Fakir knew it was soft-and causing Duck to shiver.
The Knight felt useless as he watched the situation, like he could just get up an leave and neither of them would notice. He knew it wasn't true, but then-they looked so wrapped up in each other-and it wasn't that he was jealous.
Mytho pulled his head back, tongue retreating into his own mouth, and looked down, silently observing her body.
Duck felt self-conscious again. How could she not? This was beautiful, Princely Mytho staring at her underdeveloped duck-body. He must be thinking that Rue was prettier-and she was-and her breasts were bigger too-
Duck gasped suddenly as Mytho's fingers brushed against hardening pink nubs. He took them between his fingertips and rolled them experimentally.
“Aaa-aahh...!” Fakir was becoming impatient, gripping the sheets beneath his fingers as his dick twitched at the noises Duck was making.
Then Mytho leaned his head down, and grasping the small mound of flesh in his hands, allowed his tongue to dart out and lick it. He dragged his tongue across a nipple and lapped as Duck thrashed beneath him, licking his way to the second and leaving a trail of warmth and wetness behind him.
He flicked his tongue at it, cool air mixing with hot touches. Duck chewed on her bottom lip. Was she attempting to stifle her noises all of a sudden? She whimpered and Fakir could see her fingers twitching at her sides.
Mytho licked at them a few more times, still tugging them with his fingers. Fakir hoped Mytho wasn't being too rough. For a Prince Mytho was hardly sensitive of others' likes or dislikes, but then-like Duck-he wouldn't have been him without it. Mytho squeezed the flesh beneath his hand suddenly-and really, maybe Fakir should intervene because it really did seem like Mytho was being too rough-but then Duck seemed to like it-clenching her fists and gasping and trying not make so much noise.
Duck bit her lip as Mytho pulled determinedly on her nipples again, rolling his fingertips and twisting. Duck was trying her best but really, every time Mytho touched her she felt like she was on fire, and then with Fakir watching it was just-it was embarrassing, that's what it was! Why would she like it more that Fakir was watching? That was just creepy. Not that she didn't like Fakir, but him watching her really didn't do anything extra for her at all because she certainly didn't like being watched like she was there for his entertainment or some sort of morning television show, not one bit!
She turned her head (she really couldn't hold eye contact with the Prince, his eyes were just too, something) but she regretted it almost immediately. Fakir was watching her, cock erect and doing nothing to cover himself. He was fisting the sheets-was he angry, or...?
But then Mytho was getting bored so decided to try something new, and leaned his head down, closed his lips around her nipple and sucked.
“F-Fakir...!” Fakir's head jerked up in response.
Mytho pulled back with a wet noise and stared at her. Ohmigod! She couldn't believe she'd just said that! Calling out Fakir's name! This was so embarrassing, it was bad enough she was making all those noises but now this? Fakir hadn't been making that much noise and he'd only said he name to get her attention, not like this! She threw her arm over her face in mortification while Mytho looked quizzically between the two. Fakir and Duck always acted strangely towards one another. Mytho couldn't for the life of him fathom why.
A few seconds ticked by. “Fakir, Duck called you.” He finally stated, blunt and obvious. Fakir still didn't say anything, so he tried again.
“Fakir-” but Fakir didn't let him finish.
“I know, dammit. I heard you.” Fakir supposed he was needed after all. And Duck obviously didn't like just Mytho-just the Prince-but him too? Fakir, the failed Knight?
Fakir moved across the bed towards them. With Duck looking so embarrassed he suddenly felt stronger and more confident. In a few moments he was hovering over her. He gently removed her forearm from her face. She clenched her eyes shut.
“Hey idiot, how was I supposed to see your face like that?” It was said as less of an insult and more of a term of endearment. As much as he wanted to tease her about her saying his name, he held his tongue, as she really did look embarrassed enough already.
“Is it the same as with you, Fakir?” Mytho was asking him, but he paid him little mind. He let his fingertips brush against her chest and she shivered. He leaned down until he was very, very, very close to her face.
“C'mon Duck, I've seen you naked before.” Duck squirmed but kept her eyes firmly shut. Fakir gave up and filled the gap between them, lips brushing against lips and sending tingles down his spine. Kissing Duck was much different that kissing Mytho. Mytho was soft, but Duck, Duck was a girl. And he could feel it in her kiss. His tongue darted out, licking at her lips and she complied, opening her mouth just a bit.
He brought one of her lips into his mouth and sucked on it, raking his teeth over it softly and then invading her mouth with his tongue, exploring and curious and feeling. Her tongue joined too; she seemed confident in kissing, tongue entering his mouth a brushing against everything. Fakir ran his hands through her hair.
Kissing Fakir was different than kissing Mytho. And something about that though made her feel a bit like a..a...maybe she shouldn't have been kissing two different boys in the first place. But then Fakir-his kiss was so much more-she really couldn't describe it! Kissing Mytho was a gentle wave against a sailboat, but kissing Fakir was like an ocean storm!
In the midst of her bliss she felt Mytho touching her too, dragging his fingertips across her skin and then between her legs. She fought the reaction to immediately clench her legs shut, kissing Fakir more deeply and curling her fingers around his shoulders. Mytho's hand traveled deeper still and she could feel it between that wet part of herself, but still he kept going, until he was brushing against-
“Ah!” With a sudden yelp Duck jerked away from Fakir and almost kicked Mytho in the head. Shocked and confused, Fakir looked around. Duck had the furious blush he'd ever seen, and Mytho had perhaps the widest eyes. Mytho.
“Mytho, what did you just do?” Angry Fakir was resurfacing, frustration building with the coil in his stomach.
“I just-I thought it was the same as with you, Fakir.” Dammit. Fakir shouldn't have ignored his questions.
“What was the same Mytho?” Fakir's patience was growing thin, but Duck spoke up before he started shouting.
“He touched my-my-my butt!” Duck wailed, looking thoroughly humiliated and traumatized. Fakir almost laughed. Duck's over-the-top reactions coupled with Mytho's confusion-was just... Fakir chuckled. They stared.
“The two of you are such idiots.” Fakir sighed, shaking his head and effectively wiping the smirk from his face. It was strange how much more confident he felt when they were the ones being embarrassed and ridiculous. It was almost like Duck didn't leave any embarrassment left for him.
“Duck, lay back down. Mytho get over here. It's different with a girl, stupid.” Duck hesitantly laid back down, but Mytho was at his side almost instantly. “Did I hurt you, Duck?” Mytho asked suddenly, and he had this look-it was almost concerned. “I'm sorry.”
“No! You didn't hurt me. I'm fine, really, I was just really caught off guard. And touching there is-I meant there's nothing wrong with it-but I'm a girl and not that girls don't do that sometimes cause I'm pretty sure they do but I just don't, I mean, it's like-”
“It's fine Mytho, Duck wasn't harmed.” Fakir finally silenced her in an exasperated tone.
They advanced on Duck simultaneously. Fakir kissed her briefly and toyed with her nipples, blushing long-gone, and then allowed his hand to drift down her torso, fingertips brushing in her naval before reaching their destination. Mytho was beside him, excited and interested, smooth cock standing at attention and golden eyes wandering across her body.
Mytho reached between her legs slowly, and then glanced back at Fakir for confirmation. Is this right?
Fakir sighed and gripped Mytho's hand beneath his own. They brushed passed the thin patch of hair. Holding Mytho's finger beneath his own, Fakir pressed onward, spreading until he felt wetness. He swallowed, suddenly nervous again. He brought Mytho's finger to Duck's clit-that was it, right?-pushed against it lightly. Duck gasped and her toes curled. He was pretty sure that was it.
They brushed against it a few more times, until Fakir decided to drag their fingers between the lips of her cunt, pressing forward until he could feel it. Duck wiggled beneath their touches, legs trembling and heart thumping in her ears. It was fine, she kept telling herself, Fakir wouldn't hurt her.
Fakir pressed Mytho's fingers into the wet heat-two was probably too much-and then whispered into Mytho's ear:
“Slowly.” Mytho listened, slowly pushing the digit into her, but Duck was already breathing heavy and grinding back. Perhaps Fakir had underestimated her. Her body was more suited for this than his was, after-all.
Fakir swallowed away his nervousness, pressing his finger in beside Mytho's, and this time her face scrunched up in was hopefully just mere discomfort. He pushed in slowly, and once he had his finger finally settled in, he stilled Mytho's from moving. Seconds ticked by with only the sound of their breathing bouncing off of the walls. Ever impatient, Mytho wiggled his finger.
Duck gasped. Fakir mentally shrugged and figured it was good a sign as any, and then he began moving his finger too. It reminded him much of what Mytho had been doing to him earlier, only in reverse. And the inside of Duck was a lot more...wet. Mytho seemed to pick up on the fact when Fakir easily slipped another finger inside. She was stretching easier, accommodating much faster, and making much, much more noise.
Whimpers escaped her throat. Her forearm was covering her eyes again. “Ah, ah-F-Fakiiir....”
Fakir curled his fingers and something inside Duck made her writhe equally as much as he had earlier. The Knight used his thumb to rub against her clit, hips pressing against their fingers enthusiastically. Fakir, feeling bold, flicked at her nipples again. Her chest heaved and her body spasmed.
“Fakir,” Mytho began, and said Knight could already feel the question coming on, “Duck-girls, girls have their own...” He paused for a moment, “lubricant? Fakir?” Duck turned her head away and Fakir managed out an annoyed, “Obviously.”
Fakir realized that his erection was beginning to hurt, and steady thrum was beginning in his loins, and so he decided he'd better move things along. He pulled his fingers out (and Mytho's too) before realizing that he'd never even really asked Duck her preference of sexual partners: whether her or Mytho. He'd simply stated it as a fact and she'd agreed. But maybe it was only because she didn't know she had a choice?
He chose things the way he thought would work best. Really, he wasn't biased. Feeling like an insensitive jerk, he spoke up, figuring better late than never.
“Duck, I never really asked,” He was back to staring down at the sheets, wiping slick wetness off his fingers. “I just thought it'd be easier if it was you and I, and then Mytho doing-ah, well-me, but if you'd rather it be Mytho...” Fakir's own inability to speak was angering him, and coupled with the embarrassment of having to say it in the first place and- “Look, all I'm saying is, if you'd rather do things with Mytho, it's fine, because I really don't care either way.”
Yeah, he really knew how to set the mood.
“That's not true, Fakir.” Mytho muttered quietly.
“What do you know about any of it?” Fakir snapped, combating worry and self-consciousness with anger. Mytho looked withdrawn and Duck propped herself up, leaning on her elbows and looking nervous. She twiddled with her fingers.
“I like both of you, Fakir.” Duck offered, glancing away. And Fakir liked Mytho and Duck, so why all of a sudden did he feel the need to, to-
“That's why your heart hurts sometimes, Fakir.” Mytho offered. Mytho really did fancy himself the knower-of-knowledge all of a sudden.
Fakir swallowed, suddenly feeling stupid. They did really all like each other, right?
“So...” The dark-haired teen started, unsure of himself.
“So this time you can do it, Fakir! There will be other times for trying other things, you know!” Fakir blushed and Mytho smiled.
“I mean, I'm not trying to say-” The words had stumbled out of her mouth before she'd even realized what they implied. “I'm not just assuming that! I mean, only if you want and if you don't want we don't have to because it's not like I want people to do what they don't wanna do-only it just, that-”
“Yes, stupid, there will be other times. I guess you're right for once.” Fakir chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes. “Mytho, pass me that package by your foot.”
Mytho handed Fakir the pink square with little understanding of what was in his hands. Duck and Fakir looked embarrassed again, although not as much as before-they'd all touched and made noises and Mytho had even orgasmed once already-there was little left to hide.
Fakir struggled with wrappings before removing the small object inside. He fumbled and almost dropped it and then looked down, with an actual reason to this time. After fiddling with the slick latex he managed to get the contraption on his cock in what looked to be the proper way, if the instructions were anything to go by.
Mytho watched in fascination. “Hey Prince-you too.” Mytho held one of the colorful squared in his hands, simply looking, before tearing open the package and roughly imitating Fakir. Once it was in place, gold eyes stared at the other male expectantly.
“Like this, Fakir?” The Knight nodded in confirmation.
“Umm-Duck, if you would just, lie back down-Mytho, just, uh-just wait a minute.” Fakir could feel his palms beginning to sweat. He'd admit it, fuck, he was nervous-and hard too. But he really didn't wanna mess this up. This was something-it was important, for all of them.
“Okay-um, I just-” Duck noticed Fakir was talking more than anyone. Was he rambling? That was supposed to be her job. Was he really so nervous? Not that Duck wasn't nervous, cause she was nervous too-and she didn't think Mytho was nervous but she really didn't think Mytho could even feel nervousness yet. Was nervousness an emotion anyway?
Fakir was over-top of her, broader shoulders, flat stomach and angular hips. She felt small, and a bit anxious, but safe. Fakir would never hurt her-or Mytho. They were in good hands. She smiled up at him.
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continuez
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Genre: Comedy/Romance
Pairings/Characters: Fakir/Mytho/Duck
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: awkwardness, first time
Summary: The prince and the knight and the...duck? In a bed! Duck swears she hasn't watched those videos that Pike and Lilie were talking about.
Amour de Trois
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continuez
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“So you will have a baby after this, Duck?” He asked, and turned towards said girl, eyes shinning.
This was never going to end.
“A-a-a-baby?! I can't have a baby now! I mean I could, at least, bi-bi-biological-ly, but I mean, not that having Fakir's baby would be terrible or anything but I mean, I dunno if I even want a baby ever and right now we're too young, and just because-” Duck was working herself up into a fit.
“No Mytho, Duck will not be having a baby.” Fakir wondered if Duck would ever learn to give Mytho curt answers; they were what always worked best.
Duck quieted, filled with embarrassment. She had to learn to stop flying off the handle like that.
“I have condoms in my dresser.” Fakir said aloud. Duck glanced away at the word, and Mytho asked:
“Condoms, Fakir?” Already with the questions.
“You'll understand in a moment.” Fakir felt ready to burst. He was quickly tiring of being the one in control of the situation, and between Mytho's incessant questions and Duck's rambling, the stress was taking a toll on his libido; he could feel his erection flag as he stood up. He could Feel Mytho's eyes on him too, however, as he crossed the room to the nightstand, and suddenly he was self-conscious. Was Duck watching too? He forced himself not to turn and check.
He found the condoms easily and grabbed a handful, snatching the small plastic container beside them and trying not the blush about the fact that he even had them in the first place. He'd only wanted to be prepared if the opportunity ever presented itself.
The few feet from the dresser to the bed felt like miles. Fakir was trying to talk himself through the mechanics, but he wasn't quite sure how they were going to pan out himself. Mytho had a certain lack of...consideration that he really didn't want to push on Duck, and it wasn't that he was exactly adverse to letting Mytho-
Fakir found himself at the bed before he could finish his thoughts. As if in slow motion, he placed the condoms and the small container down, and then sat down himself.
He took a deep breath, meeting Mytho's eyes, and drew several conclusions, “Look, I think it's best, that-that, I'll do it to Duck, and you do it to me. Okay?” Fakir felt immature for his childish vocabulary, but Duck merely nodded vigorously with a red face. Fakir braced himself at Mytho's quizzical expression, but Mytho didn't ask anything.
“Okay, well since-I mean-there's a certain amount of s-s-stretching involved for a guy-so I have to...” He trailed off, feeling thoroughly humiliated. There was no way he was going to be able to do that to himself with Mytho blatantly staring at him, and Duck-well Duck being there at all was more than enough.
He reached for the lube anyway, and a thousand questions danced in Mytho's eyes. He popped open the lid and spread some of the substance on his fingertips. He closed his eyes (there was no way he could look) and reached behind himself. He swallowed at the cool sensation as his fingertips slid between his cheeks; and then a soft prodding.
Duck couldn't believe what was happening. That was how it worked with two guys? She found herself a little grossed out. She'd figured out before how it was done, but putting your fingers in there? It wasn't that Fakir was dirty or anything, actually he seemed like the type to shower too much, but still, it just didn't seem like something Duck would want to ever do. She glanced away, training her eyes on Mytho to keep herself distracted.
Mytho, as per usual, picked the opportune moment to ask questions.
“Why are you doing that, Fakir?”
Fakir could feel his body tense as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. This was something Fakir knew he couldn't even possibly begin explain to Mytho, and sure Mytho didn't have a heart and all, but did a heart have some unknown connection with common sense? Because Fakir hardly ever observed Mytho using any. Context clues, for heaven's sake.
The dark haired teen began focusing on his breathing again-he really wasn't supposed to do this if he was tense-until it was even and regular. He pushed his lube-slicked index finger a little further inside. Something about it was nerve-wracking, but he was fairly sure it was the people in the room, rather than the actual experience, because really the feeling wasn't so awful. Fakir inhaled another gulp of air, feeling like a fish out of water in more ways than one, and pushed until his finger was sheathed to the third knuckle.
It was an unfamiliar although not completely unpleasant sensation, just a feeling of something in there that wasn't really supposed to be in there, and it made him feel sort of...too full, or something. He let out a swoosh of air from his lungs and swallowed, pressing the finger further inside himself. Fakir began attempting a slight thrusting motion-almost-just a shallow in-and-out press with one finger, but almost immediately he felt an uncomfortable chafing sensation and his arm began to tire.
Fakir had heard that you were supposed to use a lot of lube, and clearly he hadn't used enough. Getting more, however, meant completely removing his hand and then it would be like starting the process all over again and he really wasn't sure he could quite bear that. A shuffling noise almost made him tense again, and he suddenly remembered that there were two other people on the bed with him. Dammit. He was such an idiot. There were two other people waiting while he just took his good ol' time taking a millennium just to finger himself.
He wondered if it was supposed to take so long and figured it probably wasn't ,so he kept going with his finger anyway-lube half dried and body tense. The anxiety was beginning to get to him, that he was performing below-acceptable, even if he knew that neither Mytho nor Duck had any idea about what was sexually acceptable in the first place. He could feel himself wavering as he attempted to add a second finger.
Mytho watched the entire ordeal with complete fascination, as did Duck, although her own curiosity was masked with embarrassment. The pale-haired boy watched his classmate with slight confusion, entranced as Fakir's chest heaved, wondering what exactly he was doing to himself with his other hand.
A plethora of unrecognizable emotions sped across Fakir's face. Strange little things that disappeared and reappeared with every intake of breath the other boy managed to make. Dark eyebrows knitted down in some sort of something... Mytho was fairly sure it wasn't anger, because Fakir wasn't yelling, although his face was red.
Mytho moved a little closer to him-he really wanted to know why Fakir was acting so strangely-but his classmate tensed and so he figured perhaps he should wait a moment. He continued to watch as Fakir's arm began some sort of regular motion, although for what, Mytho still couldn't see nor figure out. He hoped that the emotions he wasn't understanding weren't too important, because there were a lot of emotions flickering across Fakir's face that Mytho couldn't recognize.
Mytho searched Fakir's face for something-anything recognizable, and then, all of a sudden-there it was. Fakir's clenched eyes began to twitch and his body tensed and then, starting from Fakir's shoulders, an almost unnoticeable amount of trembling began. His motions stopped and Fakir's jaw tightened and his eyebrows-well, Mytho knew that emotion, it was one of his firsts-fear. Fear? Fakir was afraid of something?
Something strange welled in Mytho's chest as he crossed the bed. He glanced back at Duck, who shot him a confused and embarrassed look, but continued anyway.
Fakir tensed again as soft hands dropped to his shoulders. “Fakir?”
“Are you okay, Fakir?” Fakir wasn't sure how to answer. Technically, yes, he was fine. He was just feeling stressed and nervous and barely hard because he had two fingers in his ass and he needed more lube because it was starting to hurt but he had no idea where he'd dropped the lube and he was too embarrassed and humiliated to open his eyes to look for it!
Thinking about it just had Fakir tense and shaking even more, and he felt like such an idiot because he couldn't do anything right, and he was supposed to be the Knight, yeah right, some Knight-
“Why do you feel fear Fakir? Why are you afraid?” Mytho surmised that it might have to do with whatever he'd been doing to himself that Mytho couldn't see, so he pressed up against Fakir until he could see over his shoulders. He titled his head. All he saw were, two of Fakir's fingers pressed inside of his bottom.
Fakir attempted to move his hand forward again-ignoring Mytho-he was sure if he could just get this part over with he could-
Mytho watched with bewilderment as Fakir's hand began too move, and even more as he felt Fakir's body begin to tremble. Mytho placed his hand on Fakir's moving wrist. Tightened his grip just the slightest. Fakir's hand stilled.
“This is why you are afraid, Fakir?” Fakir froze.
“I'm not afraid, Mytho.” Fakir managed out through clenched teeth and eyes.
Fakir waited for confusion and naivety, “Can I help, Fakir?” was what Mytho asked instead. Fakir was fairly sure that Mytho didn't even know what he was offering, but then, Mytho always had had a knack for helping people and-well, he was a Prince at the end of the day, Fakir supposed.
Fakir's shoulders heaved and he swallowed. “Hand me the little bottle.”
Mytho retracted himself from Fakir, cold air taking his place, before resuming his former position. The two of them-hair contrasting in the sunlight (it wasn't even midday yet)-kneeled facing one another. When Mytho's head was at Fakir's shoulder-close enough so that Fakir could whisper and still be heard-he muttered, “Open it and put some on my hand.”
Fakir let his free hand wrap around Mytho's thin hips for balance. “This hand?” Mytho asked quietly, brushing against the hand that Fakir had twisted behind himself. Fakir nodded. “Not too much.” He mumbled nervously. Mytho pressed himself against Fakir to get a more accurate view, slowly pouring some of the liquid around Fakir's encased fingers.
Fakir attempted to wiggle the two-index and middle-but it was no use. The lubricant from earlier had already dried, and the stuff Mytho had poured had merely dripped around his palm. Inwardly cursing, Fakir began drawing his hand back, and slowly removed his fingers, chest heaving. Once he'd fully retracted them, he took a few deep breaths.
Apparently Mytho used context clues a bit more than he thought, because suddenly there was an entirely new set of coated fingers at his entrance. Fakir gasped and grabbed onto Mytho with his newly freed hand for support. He leaned his forehead on Mytho's shoulder.
Mytho pressed a finger forward and Fakir's body tensed. “Do we need more of this-this...?” Mytho stumbled for a word to describe the strange liquid.
“Lubricant.” Fakir offered. “Lubricant? Should I-” Mytho asked hesitantly. He was still fairly unsure of why Fakir needed this done in the first place, but if this was part of sex, then he supposed it didn't really matter.
“No-it's fine, just-do it already, it's fine.” Mytho pressed his finger forward again, and instead of bothering with a slow entrance, as Fakir might have, Mytho had his finger sheathed inside Fakir in one slick motion. Fakir was still trying to comprehend the situation when Mytho began pressing a second, wetter than the previous one-had he used more lube anyway?-to join in with the first.
Fakir tensed just the slightest, really, but somehow Mytho had noticed because-
“Is this bad, Fakir?” Fakir didn't say anything-how could he even begin to answer Mytho's questions in a state like this?-he opted instead for body language; a slight movement of his hips.
Mytho seemed encouraged and pressed in the second, and the sensation was much less painful than when he'd done it. Perhaps he really hadn't been using enough.
Mytho pressed his fingers in more-as much as he could-and Fakir was gritting his teeth and clenching his hands at Mytho skin. The last one had stung a bit. “What do I do?” The white-haired boy asked, unsure of how Fakir was feeling and if he was even remotely doing the correct thing.
“Just, move around a bit.” Fakir's voice seemed raspy and deeper than usual but less intimidating once it was being muffled against Mytho's skin. Mytho nodded and thrust his fingers in a few times, deeper, and then pulled them back and pushed back in again a little faster and deeper than Fakir liked.
Still unsure of what to do, the Prince began to experiment, scissoring his fingers and thrusting and exploring. Fakir didn't bother with embarrassing words like slower or softer or not so deep, just kept focusing on his breathing and telling himself that Duck really wasn't watching this whole thing just a few feet away.
Hoping he was doing this correctly, Mytho drew his fingers back, almost completely retracted them, before pushing back inside. The Knight was breathing heavily against him, although Mytho wasn't even sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Just when he was about to ask if he should stop, he decided to curl his fingers just a bit, and Fakir's whole body jerked with a stifled shout.
Startled and more confused than ever, Mytho ventured to ask another question, “Fakir...?” But the Knight in question was still breathing heavily and-what the hell was that?-he'd read that it would feel good, but after all the embarrassment and discomfort and pain he didn't think that good.
This time Fakir did say embarrassing things, “D-do that again.”
“Do what again?” Mytho hadn't even been paying much attention to what he was doing. “This?” Mytho asked, and curled his fingers again. It might have been considered dirty talk if Mytho wasn't so blatantly confused. Fakir could feel his hips automatically grind back in response. Fakir gave a jerky nod. He could feel the blood rushing to his prick.
Mytho, naïve as he was, was proving himself a fast learner. The Prince twisted his fingers a bit, simultaneously stretching and pressing against that spot again. Fakir wondered briefly what Duck was thinking, if she thought he was too girly or weak or such and idiot for being so stubborn about things.
The Knight decided that he needed to move thing along. Duck was literally just a sitting duck, and probably feeling left out. He pushed himself back against the fingers and arched his back just a bit. Mytho twisted and turned the slick digits inside him, so much that it was no longer uncomfortable, but just there. Like shoes that you needed to break in, or something. It was actually beginning to feel too good. So good that Fakir was beginning to feel a warmth begin in his stomach.
“My-Mytho, add another finger.” Fakir muttered with a dry throat. There was shifting in which Mytho's stomach brushed against Fakir's cock, twitching and needy, but Mytho paid it no mind. A third finger pressed to join the others. Fakir grimaced; shit, fucking was really going to hurt, wasn't it?
Mytho pressed the tip inside without any hesitation, and as Fakir clenched his teeth, he thought about how he'd much rather be doing this to Mytho instead. But with the Prince, everything was new to him, and Fakir really couldn't bear to look at him when he was coiled in fear or twitching in pain. Everything was new to him as it was, it just wouldn't have been right. So instead Fakir sighed and attempted to relax his body.
The finger pressed past the second ring of muscle, and instead of stilling for a moment, Mytho immediately started dancing, but with his fucking fingers, pressing and bending and stretching the Knight's insides. He curled the three of them until Fakir had to call out, couldn't help it, and then he jabbed at the place again and again until it felt so good that he was shaking.
Fakir wanted to tell him to stop, that it was too much, and it was really, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. Mytho moved forward a bit, for better positioning perhaps, knee brushing against his pulsing cock, and then Fakir knew he needed it. He stopped thinking about Duck and about being embarrassed and failing as a Knight and just felt.
Mytho's other hand found Fakir's warm prick, brushed against it, loosely held it, and then tugged it lightly.
“Aaaahh...!” Fakir really couldn't believe he was making those noises. He wasn't making those noises.
Mytho wrapped his palm completely around his cock, thick and warm in his slender hand and began pulling. He figured that this was what he was supposed to be doing to Fakir. He knew that when Fakir had done it to him it had been good, better than good, and even though he couldn't exactly identify the feeling, he was sure Fakir could, and he hoped he liked it.
Mytho twisted and curled his fingers playfully and Fakir's back arched and his hips gyrated. His eyes snapped open for a brief moment, and over Mytho's shoulder he caught a glimpse of Duck, no longer watching them but sitting and watching the sheets awkwardly and uncomfortably and-dammit, Mytho's lack of inconsideration was excusable, but his own? Shit.
“A-Ahiru...!” He attempted, named mangled and broken by another of Mytho's unrelenting thrusts. Her head snapped up and emerald and cerulean eyes finally met. He stilled Mytho's wrist from moving in a sharp grip, and in a breathless but stern voice told him to wait. Mytho turned his head to find what was distracting Fakir so.
Unsure of what to say, Mytho said it for him.
“Fakir likes you too, Duck.” She swallowed and moved her hands to cover herself, nervous and self-conscious. Fakir figured he'd had more than enough anyway-enough with the stretching, that he'd probably be fine. He tugged Mytho's wrist again, and a little too roughly Mytho pulled his three fingers out.
Fakir's body tensed with pain for a brief moment before he inhaled deeply. They both turned towards her.
“Is it the same with you Duck? Can I do it to you?” Fakir swallowed, knowing exactly what sameness Mytho was referring to. Did Duck? She was so ridiculously naïve sometimes-too much sometimes-but then, she wouldn't have been Duck without it.
Mytho advanced on her fairly suddenly, crawling across rumpled sheets with a strange amount on enthusiasm. Duck looked surprised and almost afraid, flailing around as if she didn't know what to do, until finally Mytho was against her and she was lying on her back staring back into amber eyes.
Without warning or question (which was quite something for Mytho), he had Duck's lips captured in his own. Duck was surprised but not stupid-contrary to popular belief-and once she'd gotten a handle on the situation she began responding back with just as much fervor. Mytho's hands began to roam, much more confident than before, brushing across soft skin-Fakir knew it was soft-and causing Duck to shiver.
The Knight felt useless as he watched the situation, like he could just get up an leave and neither of them would notice. He knew it wasn't true, but then-they looked so wrapped up in each other-and it wasn't that he was jealous.
Mytho pulled his head back, tongue retreating into his own mouth, and looked down, silently observing her body.
Duck felt self-conscious again. How could she not? This was beautiful, Princely Mytho staring at her underdeveloped duck-body. He must be thinking that Rue was prettier-and she was-and her breasts were bigger too-
Duck gasped suddenly as Mytho's fingers brushed against hardening pink nubs. He took them between his fingertips and rolled them experimentally.
“Aaa-aahh...!” Fakir was becoming impatient, gripping the sheets beneath his fingers as his dick twitched at the noises Duck was making.
Then Mytho leaned his head down, and grasping the small mound of flesh in his hands, allowed his tongue to dart out and lick it. He dragged his tongue across a nipple and lapped as Duck thrashed beneath him, licking his way to the second and leaving a trail of warmth and wetness behind him.
He flicked his tongue at it, cool air mixing with hot touches. Duck chewed on her bottom lip. Was she attempting to stifle her noises all of a sudden? She whimpered and Fakir could see her fingers twitching at her sides.
Mytho licked at them a few more times, still tugging them with his fingers. Fakir hoped Mytho wasn't being too rough. For a Prince Mytho was hardly sensitive of others' likes or dislikes, but then-like Duck-he wouldn't have been him without it. Mytho squeezed the flesh beneath his hand suddenly-and really, maybe Fakir should intervene because it really did seem like Mytho was being too rough-but then Duck seemed to like it-clenching her fists and gasping and trying not make so much noise.
Duck bit her lip as Mytho pulled determinedly on her nipples again, rolling his fingertips and twisting. Duck was trying her best but really, every time Mytho touched her she felt like she was on fire, and then with Fakir watching it was just-it was embarrassing, that's what it was! Why would she like it more that Fakir was watching? That was just creepy. Not that she didn't like Fakir, but him watching her really didn't do anything extra for her at all because she certainly didn't like being watched like she was there for his entertainment or some sort of morning television show, not one bit!
She turned her head (she really couldn't hold eye contact with the Prince, his eyes were just too, something) but she regretted it almost immediately. Fakir was watching her, cock erect and doing nothing to cover himself. He was fisting the sheets-was he angry, or...?
But then Mytho was getting bored so decided to try something new, and leaned his head down, closed his lips around her nipple and sucked.
“F-Fakir...!” Fakir's head jerked up in response.
Mytho pulled back with a wet noise and stared at her. Ohmigod! She couldn't believe she'd just said that! Calling out Fakir's name! This was so embarrassing, it was bad enough she was making all those noises but now this? Fakir hadn't been making that much noise and he'd only said he name to get her attention, not like this! She threw her arm over her face in mortification while Mytho looked quizzically between the two. Fakir and Duck always acted strangely towards one another. Mytho couldn't for the life of him fathom why.
A few seconds ticked by. “Fakir, Duck called you.” He finally stated, blunt and obvious. Fakir still didn't say anything, so he tried again.
“Fakir-” but Fakir didn't let him finish.
“I know, dammit. I heard you.” Fakir supposed he was needed after all. And Duck obviously didn't like just Mytho-just the Prince-but him too? Fakir, the failed Knight?
Fakir moved across the bed towards them. With Duck looking so embarrassed he suddenly felt stronger and more confident. In a few moments he was hovering over her. He gently removed her forearm from her face. She clenched her eyes shut.
“Hey idiot, how was I supposed to see your face like that?” It was said as less of an insult and more of a term of endearment. As much as he wanted to tease her about her saying his name, he held his tongue, as she really did look embarrassed enough already.
“Is it the same as with you, Fakir?” Mytho was asking him, but he paid him little mind. He let his fingertips brush against her chest and she shivered. He leaned down until he was very, very, very close to her face.
“C'mon Duck, I've seen you naked before.” Duck squirmed but kept her eyes firmly shut. Fakir gave up and filled the gap between them, lips brushing against lips and sending tingles down his spine. Kissing Duck was much different that kissing Mytho. Mytho was soft, but Duck, Duck was a girl. And he could feel it in her kiss. His tongue darted out, licking at her lips and she complied, opening her mouth just a bit.
He brought one of her lips into his mouth and sucked on it, raking his teeth over it softly and then invading her mouth with his tongue, exploring and curious and feeling. Her tongue joined too; she seemed confident in kissing, tongue entering his mouth a brushing against everything. Fakir ran his hands through her hair.
Kissing Fakir was different than kissing Mytho. And something about that though made her feel a bit like a..a...maybe she shouldn't have been kissing two different boys in the first place. But then Fakir-his kiss was so much more-she really couldn't describe it! Kissing Mytho was a gentle wave against a sailboat, but kissing Fakir was like an ocean storm!
In the midst of her bliss she felt Mytho touching her too, dragging his fingertips across her skin and then between her legs. She fought the reaction to immediately clench her legs shut, kissing Fakir more deeply and curling her fingers around his shoulders. Mytho's hand traveled deeper still and she could feel it between that wet part of herself, but still he kept going, until he was brushing against-
“Ah!” With a sudden yelp Duck jerked away from Fakir and almost kicked Mytho in the head. Shocked and confused, Fakir looked around. Duck had the furious blush he'd ever seen, and Mytho had perhaps the widest eyes. Mytho.
“Mytho, what did you just do?” Angry Fakir was resurfacing, frustration building with the coil in his stomach.
“I just-I thought it was the same as with you, Fakir.” Dammit. Fakir shouldn't have ignored his questions.
“What was the same Mytho?” Fakir's patience was growing thin, but Duck spoke up before he started shouting.
“He touched my-my-my butt!” Duck wailed, looking thoroughly humiliated and traumatized. Fakir almost laughed. Duck's over-the-top reactions coupled with Mytho's confusion-was just... Fakir chuckled. They stared.
“The two of you are such idiots.” Fakir sighed, shaking his head and effectively wiping the smirk from his face. It was strange how much more confident he felt when they were the ones being embarrassed and ridiculous. It was almost like Duck didn't leave any embarrassment left for him.
“Duck, lay back down. Mytho get over here. It's different with a girl, stupid.” Duck hesitantly laid back down, but Mytho was at his side almost instantly. “Did I hurt you, Duck?” Mytho asked suddenly, and he had this look-it was almost concerned. “I'm sorry.”
“No! You didn't hurt me. I'm fine, really, I was just really caught off guard. And touching there is-I meant there's nothing wrong with it-but I'm a girl and not that girls don't do that sometimes cause I'm pretty sure they do but I just don't, I mean, it's like-”
“It's fine Mytho, Duck wasn't harmed.” Fakir finally silenced her in an exasperated tone.
They advanced on Duck simultaneously. Fakir kissed her briefly and toyed with her nipples, blushing long-gone, and then allowed his hand to drift down her torso, fingertips brushing in her naval before reaching their destination. Mytho was beside him, excited and interested, smooth cock standing at attention and golden eyes wandering across her body.
Mytho reached between her legs slowly, and then glanced back at Fakir for confirmation. Is this right?
Fakir sighed and gripped Mytho's hand beneath his own. They brushed passed the thin patch of hair. Holding Mytho's finger beneath his own, Fakir pressed onward, spreading until he felt wetness. He swallowed, suddenly nervous again. He brought Mytho's finger to Duck's clit-that was it, right?-pushed against it lightly. Duck gasped and her toes curled. He was pretty sure that was it.
They brushed against it a few more times, until Fakir decided to drag their fingers between the lips of her cunt, pressing forward until he could feel it. Duck wiggled beneath their touches, legs trembling and heart thumping in her ears. It was fine, she kept telling herself, Fakir wouldn't hurt her.
Fakir pressed Mytho's fingers into the wet heat-two was probably too much-and then whispered into Mytho's ear:
“Slowly.” Mytho listened, slowly pushing the digit into her, but Duck was already breathing heavy and grinding back. Perhaps Fakir had underestimated her. Her body was more suited for this than his was, after-all.
Fakir swallowed away his nervousness, pressing his finger in beside Mytho's, and this time her face scrunched up in was hopefully just mere discomfort. He pushed in slowly, and once he had his finger finally settled in, he stilled Mytho's from moving. Seconds ticked by with only the sound of their breathing bouncing off of the walls. Ever impatient, Mytho wiggled his finger.
Duck gasped. Fakir mentally shrugged and figured it was good a sign as any, and then he began moving his finger too. It reminded him much of what Mytho had been doing to him earlier, only in reverse. And the inside of Duck was a lot more...wet. Mytho seemed to pick up on the fact when Fakir easily slipped another finger inside. She was stretching easier, accommodating much faster, and making much, much more noise.
Whimpers escaped her throat. Her forearm was covering her eyes again. “Ah, ah-F-Fakiiir....”
Fakir curled his fingers and something inside Duck made her writhe equally as much as he had earlier. The Knight used his thumb to rub against her clit, hips pressing against their fingers enthusiastically. Fakir, feeling bold, flicked at her nipples again. Her chest heaved and her body spasmed.
“Fakir,” Mytho began, and said Knight could already feel the question coming on, “Duck-girls, girls have their own...” He paused for a moment, “lubricant? Fakir?” Duck turned her head away and Fakir managed out an annoyed, “Obviously.”
Fakir realized that his erection was beginning to hurt, and steady thrum was beginning in his loins, and so he decided he'd better move things along. He pulled his fingers out (and Mytho's too) before realizing that he'd never even really asked Duck her preference of sexual partners: whether her or Mytho. He'd simply stated it as a fact and she'd agreed. But maybe it was only because she didn't know she had a choice?
He chose things the way he thought would work best. Really, he wasn't biased. Feeling like an insensitive jerk, he spoke up, figuring better late than never.
“Duck, I never really asked,” He was back to staring down at the sheets, wiping slick wetness off his fingers. “I just thought it'd be easier if it was you and I, and then Mytho doing-ah, well-me, but if you'd rather it be Mytho...” Fakir's own inability to speak was angering him, and coupled with the embarrassment of having to say it in the first place and- “Look, all I'm saying is, if you'd rather do things with Mytho, it's fine, because I really don't care either way.”
Yeah, he really knew how to set the mood.
“That's not true, Fakir.” Mytho muttered quietly.
“What do you know about any of it?” Fakir snapped, combating worry and self-consciousness with anger. Mytho looked withdrawn and Duck propped herself up, leaning on her elbows and looking nervous. She twiddled with her fingers.
“I like both of you, Fakir.” Duck offered, glancing away. And Fakir liked Mytho and Duck, so why all of a sudden did he feel the need to, to-
“That's why your heart hurts sometimes, Fakir.” Mytho offered. Mytho really did fancy himself the knower-of-knowledge all of a sudden.
Fakir swallowed, suddenly feeling stupid. They did really all like each other, right?
“So...” The dark-haired teen started, unsure of himself.
“So this time you can do it, Fakir! There will be other times for trying other things, you know!” Fakir blushed and Mytho smiled.
“I mean, I'm not trying to say-” The words had stumbled out of her mouth before she'd even realized what they implied. “I'm not just assuming that! I mean, only if you want and if you don't want we don't have to because it's not like I want people to do what they don't wanna do-only it just, that-”
“Yes, stupid, there will be other times. I guess you're right for once.” Fakir chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes. “Mytho, pass me that package by your foot.”
Mytho handed Fakir the pink square with little understanding of what was in his hands. Duck and Fakir looked embarrassed again, although not as much as before-they'd all touched and made noises and Mytho had even orgasmed once already-there was little left to hide.
Fakir struggled with wrappings before removing the small object inside. He fumbled and almost dropped it and then looked down, with an actual reason to this time. After fiddling with the slick latex he managed to get the contraption on his cock in what looked to be the proper way, if the instructions were anything to go by.
Mytho watched in fascination. “Hey Prince-you too.” Mytho held one of the colorful squared in his hands, simply looking, before tearing open the package and roughly imitating Fakir. Once it was in place, gold eyes stared at the other male expectantly.
“Like this, Fakir?” The Knight nodded in confirmation.
“Umm-Duck, if you would just, lie back down-Mytho, just, uh-just wait a minute.” Fakir could feel his palms beginning to sweat. He'd admit it, fuck, he was nervous-and hard too. But he really didn't wanna mess this up. This was something-it was important, for all of them.
“Okay-um, I just-” Duck noticed Fakir was talking more than anyone. Was he rambling? That was supposed to be her job. Was he really so nervous? Not that Duck wasn't nervous, cause she was nervous too-and she didn't think Mytho was nervous but she really didn't think Mytho could even feel nervousness yet. Was nervousness an emotion anyway?
Fakir was over-top of her, broader shoulders, flat stomach and angular hips. She felt small, and a bit anxious, but safe. Fakir would never hurt her-or Mytho. They were in good hands. She smiled up at him.
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continuez
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