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Michael stays the night in their bed with Georgia in the middle soaking up every bit of body heat she can like a greedy sponge. Carefully, David lifts his head off the pillow, peering at them in the weak light sneaking in past the edges of the curtains. It’d been a bit of a squeeze, the three of them in one bed, but he can’t say he regrets occupying the edge of the mattress for the cause.
He eases out from the covers hoping not to wake either of them, and operates on autopilot as he freshens up. Part of him feels like it’s well past time for him to start fixing breakfast and readying the kids for school; knocking on doors on the way down to the kitchen is his job while Georgia takes round two, and then it’d be back up to haul any stragglers out over his shoulder if that’s what it takes. But the kids won’t be back home until late in the day, so it’s one of those rare quiet mornings with no stomping about and squealing.
Already he misses it. He gets enough quiet mornings when he’s away on set.
As he’s exiting the washroom, Michael appears, footfalls silent in the carpet. His sleep-mussed curls and the lazy twist of his mouth is altogether too attractive for this early in the morning. “Wasn’t that bad was it?” Michael asks, expression sobering and voice pitching low as he studies David’s face. He braces a hand against the jamb and his brows go tense. “Do we need to have a chat?”
“It’s fine,” David assures him. Because it is. Last night was good by him. More than good, really. He nods towards the rest of the house. “Quiet is all.”
“Ah,” Michael says, understanding. Picking up stray wee socks and toys might be years behind him, but it never feels like it, no matter how old your kids are. “All right if I stay for a bit of breakfast?”
He’d been hoping Michael would want to, a secret little wish since Georgia honestly likes him in a way that goes beyond the occasional dinner party and social function--or threeways for that matter. He’d long since earned himself favorite status in her contact list. David’s too, even if he’s never as quick to respond as perhaps Michael would like.
“‘S that all you want to stay for?” he dares flash a flirty look, the same flirty look that had somehow led to all this. Michael’s gaze immediately drops to the outline of David’s cock in his pyjama bottoms.
“Are you propositioning me at--,” Michael glances towards the clock, “half-past seven in the morning?”
David crosses his arms across his chest and cracks a smile. “Are you declining my proposition at half-past seven in the morning?”
“Most definitely not,” Michael purrs. But as David leans down to kiss him, he turns his face to protest, “Ooh, no, don’t do that, you’ll regret it. I was about to ask if you’ve a spare toothbrush given that I hadn’t intended to stay the night.”
“Across the hall, cabinet on the left,” David says, but a little morning breath isn’t going to kill him and he follows through on the kiss. Attempts to anyhow. His lips only graze Michael’s beard as Michael deftly ducks away, chuckling quietly and casting his own flirty look over his shoulder. David wonders for a moment if he ought to chase after him, but in the bed Georgia’s stirring, and then it’s a little too late to do anything other than go to her instead.
“Is he staying?” she mouths at him between taking sips from a water glass, and when David nods, she smiles and hands him the glass and rolls over again.
It’s not an I’m-going-back-to-sleep roll. If it were, Georgia would be hoarding all the remaining covers in her arms and tucking her face under the edge of his pillow. The sprawl of her body across the bed with just a bit of sheet left on her is a purely shameless invitation.
Which he supposes is good, because he’s not sure he’s up to getting it hard up the arse first thing in the morning. That’s definitely a post-half bottle of wine commitment.
David’s sat on the bed having worked his way up from massaging Georgia’s feet and calves to his hand slid under the sheet to stroke the back of her thighs when Michael returns. He lingers at the door to their room, his hair damp from ducking his head under the taps; smart man not going straight for a shower first thing.
He asks with his eyes, and David nudges back the sheet, giving Michael a good look at his hand sliding up between Georgia’s legs. It’s so different than the night before, his stomach not all knotted up with the same sort of jitters he got before going out on stage. He’s not the one on display right now and Georgia’s not complaining in the slightest taking the spotlight. The way Michael’s gaze sweeps down her back is a little jealous--wistful and wanting--and it makes David feel like a bit of a bastard that he takes so much pride in their relationship. His pulse kicks up as stirring beneath that oil slick of envy is a deep and obvious desire. That manner of conceit makes him a bastard twice over, he supposes.
But he’s primed when Michael looks at him with the same banked heat, the same quiet hungering. The mattress dips under the press of Michael’s knee, and David sinks with it, melting into the sureness of Michael’s kiss. Before his eyes slide shut, he catches sight of Michael running his knuckles up the inside of Georgia’s legs, and then he feels it, their hands brushing together along the softness of her skin as she shifts and makes pleased sounds into the pillow. Their mouths brush together too, slow and searching and worlds apart from the eager wine-soaked slotting of the night before.
Now David has the presence of mind to pay attention to the way his belly seizes as Michael goes from a clever lick to sucking on his lip, and how the push of Michael’s fingers against Georgia stalls when David moans quietly into his mouth.
Oh, he thinks, of course. Of course they’d be similar in this way too: spurred on by the sound of a partner’s pleasure, to crave knowing the other well and truly liked it. The way Michael pulls back to look at him before kissing him deeper peels layers away, changes something fundamental in the way he interprets the soft hum that Michael pushes into his mouth.
“One of you should fuck me,” Georgia mumbles lazily, seemingly happy to let them do all the work.
Michael, he knows, is more than willing. He’d said as much when he’d gotten her off with his mouth and his fingers and swore that if he’d been fifteen years younger or in possession of any little blue pills he’d have happily given it to them both in one night. A filthy curl of lust twists about under David’s ribs remembering how Georgia had curled her toes and suggested that maybe he ought to try it some time, the two of them together, just switch between them like they do in porn. David had gone red at the time--might be going red right now--thinking about Michael pounding into his wife the same way he’d done him.
Georgia wiggles her hips from side to side. “Or, both of you so I can live my best life.”
“That one, and me first,” Michael says, bold as brass. “You mind moving to the edge of the bed, love?”
Georgia’s hair is a wild tumble as she rolls over, pivots to move as little as possible. Grinning, Michael hauls her the rest of the way, and she blows him a kiss as he sinks down to his knees.
“Nice,” she mumbles, arms stretching overhead, the whole of her body relaxed as Michael lays kisses up the inside of her thighs.
This time there’s no tipsy haze of post-orgasmic bliss to leave David languid and content to simply lay there observing as Michael goes down on her. No drowsy pleasantness preventing him from noticing every lewd sound the two of them make. The room seems to echo with the wet flicker of Michael’s tongue, reverberates each time he makes an eager, delighted, muffled sucking noise as Georgia’s hips twitch and her breath catches. There’s an awkward sort of embarrassment crawling under David’s skin that’s a lot like witnessing someone dry up on stage. How was it that last night Georgia could just sit there gleefully watching him get fucked and not want to disappear into the cushions? She’s shameless to a fault, the woman he loves.
Maybe it’s that David feels a bit of a third wheel and oh, Christ, he is a bottom--sat around waiting for one of them to tell him what to do and how to do it. Stubbornly, he kicks himself into motion, stretching out alongside Georgia to trace with his fingertips the cascade of sensation from where it begins at the press of Michael’s mouth against her to the quiver of her belly up to where it plays out between her brows and in the shape of her mouth.
“Enjoying yourself?” David asks her, even though he can tell she’s tipped from languorous pleasure to a building need by the way she’s dropped an arm to her side, palm dragging against the sheet. “Very much so?”
Georgia’s answering gasp manages to twist into a yes, and the jittery giddy noise Michael makes in response goes straight to David’s dick. He dips down to kiss her, and the way her lips tremble pushes that sizzling thrill all the way up his spine to prickle at the nape of his neck.
Lost in the softness of her kiss, he hardly notices when the wet sounds are from that alone. But then she’s twisting to put a hand to his face and kiss him harder, and then there’s the soft rustle of Michael standing up and shucking his shorts.
“Should I--?” he begins, hand wiping down over his beard and gaze darting towards the pile of his clothes left on the chair in the corner. But then his palms drag greedily up the spread of Georgia’s thighs, and he says in a low lilting tone, “Tell me I can beautiful, just like this. I’d love to come inside you if you’ll let me.”
David suppresses a shiver as all the blood in his body rushes straight into his cock. He strokes Georgia’s hair, nuzzles at her cheek and doesn’t say a word as she does the mental maths. They’re not trying, but she’s not on the pill or anything else and her fingers comb at his beard as she thinks it over. It goes without saying that she doesn’t look for his permission, that he understands to the core that she doesn’t need to. They’d had all that out the first time they’d even thought of letting another man in their bed, and he’d have known her feelings on bodily autonomy regardless. When finally she’s made up her mind and looks Michael straight in the eye to deliver a slow nod, David feels the thrill crackling around all of them, and the new reverence in the way Michael touches her. She pulls David into a kiss again, gasping as Michael seats himself in her, and David shudders when from the corner of his eye, he sees Michael curl over her and press a kiss to the flat of her breastbone like a prayer.
Georgia’s head falls back, surrendering to the feel of Michael’s hands sweeping over her as he fucks into her with a steady pace. David reaches for him, slides a hand into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, and savors how absolutely cheeky Michael looks as he glances up at the both of them. How beautiful as he moves his cheek against the inside of David’s arm and slips a hand beneath Georgia, lifting her to him as he fucks into her harder. He twists, mouth dragging against the thin skin of David’s forearm, and the tickling softness swiftly fades into the damp heat of his breath--each gust forced from his lungs in a rhythm guided by the pump of his hips.
For a while David cradles a palm against Michael’s parted lips and alternates between watching him fuck Georgia and dropping kisses along the curve of her shoulder. But soon he’s too eager to touch her, his hands on her tits when he’s not slipping one down to tease her clit, enjoying the freedom to explore her skin without the distraction of his own immediate pleasure. She twists beautifully, fitfully, alternating between arching up into the spread of his hand and settling back into where Michael cradles her. And when he slides his fingers down to where Michael’s pushed into her and lets the hot slide of Michael’s cock ride between the vee of his fingers, Georgia grinds against his palm and lets out a desperate, shaky moan that says she’s going to come soon.
“Ah, that’s it, yes, love,” Michael says. He fucks into her now with the same hard slap that had driven him to the hilt into David. His teeth scrape over his lip as he drinks in the sight of her stretched out before him, gaze darting every few heartbeats to the way David watches him watching her.
Between the spread of his fingers, David feels Michael come first, the swelling throb of it, the sudden new wetness slipping as he doesn’t stop. The eventual softening when after a dozen more thrusts he’s still doing his best to see her through. He could help and get her off with his fingers, but she’s gripping his wrist to hold his hand in place, to know that he’s feeling every inch of Michael’s cock working into her.
“God, I’m so fucking close,” she says, and thrashes a bit, knowing that any minute now Michael’s going to have to stop or just stay pressed into her. “David get your dick out.”
With a laugh Michael slows, and as David pulls his hand away to strip off his clothes, Michael puts his thumb on her, lightly teasing. “Afterwards,” Michael says, easing free, “you’ll let me help clean up the mess, won’t you?”
“That’s so dirty,” Georgia breathes, inching up on the bed. “I love it.”
When she’s settled back against the pillows again, her knees fall outward. A little shiver runs through her as Michael’s come begins to slip out of her and it sets off a firecracker in David’s belly, a hot burst of lust that turns to skittering sparks. The two of them, David thinks, might be the end of him.
Knelt between the spread of her legs, he can’t stop watching it slide out, pearly and gleaming, and while he’s never been fond of a shot in the mouth, he finds he very nearly wants to taste it. There’s an extra nasty little zing through his nerves when he lays the head of his cock right at the slick mess of it and pushes it back into Georgia’s body. Slips into the warmth of her with his core taut from the raw knowledge that it’s the both of their pleasure wet along the length of him. He can’t watch, it’s too much, and so he focuses on getting Georgia off as Michael takes his face and licks into his mouth.
He’s happy to be lost between them like this. Georgia grasps at him with hands and thighs, working herself to orgasm once and then twice against the weight of his cock in her and the pressure of his fingers at the tightness of her clit. David can taste her in Michael’s kiss, fading with each wet twist of his tongue. He tries to last as long as he can in the midst of all the sweet softness. To not think too much about how it’ll be the taste of all them heavy on Michael’s breath when he does tumble over that edge, but of course that’s what eventually tips him there, ragged and groaning, hips stuttering and for once only too eager to fall away from the clutching heat of Georgia’s body.
Michael wastes no time. None at all. Falling between her thighs with a lusty moan and going at her like he hadn’t come just minutes before. David’s stomach does flips, envious and excited and amazed all at once. For all the traits he and Michael share, this isn’t one of them. Michael’s got the same shamelessness as Georgia in bed--always has had a willingness to indulge the dirtiest parts of his psyche, David suspects, where David’s always dancing around subjects, approaching them sideways like a cat. Less so as he gets older, but….
Swaddled in that post-orgasmic bliss that softens everything, David strokes a hand over Georgia’s belly, rows of little silvery scars rippling beneath his fingertips. He sums up the nerve to ask Michael if he can have a kiss and feels the aftershock quiver through Georgia.
“C’mere,” Michael says softly, moving to meet him and letting David lick the taste of his wife and more off Michael’s lips. When he quickly pulls away with a chagrined nope and scrapes his teeth over his tongue, Michael laughs and crawls over to Georgia instead. She welcomes him with a chuckle and tangles her arms around his neck.
“All yours,” David says, leaving them to it with a dismissive wave. He draws in a deep satisfied breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have a shower. Breakfast after?”
He gets a mumbled, distracted reply as they have a cuddle. David once again slips out of bed and leaves them wrapped around one another. He's not on autopilot this time as he goes to the washroom, buoyed instead by a radiant warmth that keeps the quiet of the house from feeling empty. He stretches lazily and sorts his priorities. Get clean and get down to the kitchen. Fix some tea and toast.
And if they insist on idling about, well, it's back up to haul them out over his shoulder if that’s what it takes.