...And two Devious Wolves


It was a hard feeling to explain – 'love'. Whoever thinks that love is not painful clearly does not understand it – or maybe the course of their lives found the most favourable outcome naturally. As perfect as love could be, it almost never was. There would always be some sort of complication, like feelings being unrequited or perhaps there was already someone in the way. Those who did not have that sort of problem were the lucky ones.

Arthur was not lucky. Truth be told, he had felt what he would describe as 'love' quite a few times in his love life (it was almost impossible to not encounter it at least once within just over a thousand years). Naturally, every single time came across a complication.

There was one man that he met and fell for in the early 1300s – a knight. Of course, he had a wife and children. But Arthur couldn't stop himself blushing at the pride that knight exhibited for his kingdom and his country. Unrequited, unspoken feelings – he would not dare tell a human that he was physically attracted to him. Not to mention, a male. As a religious nation at the time, Arthur found himself in church many a time, trying to pray and repent for his longing. The knight died all too soon.

Then he remembered falling for a nation, one of his own kind, for the first time in the middle of that century. Portugal was handsome and lean, and he awakened something primeval within him. Unlike with the Knight, he found attraction in him in return. Somehow, it seemed less of a taboo for the immortals to flourish with the immortals – regardless of gender, they were at least the same 'species'. They shared their relationship in secret still, being in the bodies of men, and made love in Lisbon on the Portuguese nation's own bed – Arthur's first time. Though slowly, their feelings for one another began to fade. What had been a romantic overture, a sudden heat making Arthur's life bubble and boil over with excitement and feelings, eventually dimmed. Their candle burnt out with the Iberian Union of 1580. They were still friends, but their alliance would never be the same.

From then on, Arthur descended into something new. His teenage years, late adolescence, were spent with more excitement, but this time mingled with violence. Finally he took to the seas, and found himself discovering the finer points of life – in the most childish of ways. Upon reflection, he would say that he was such an idiot. He would kill, he would drink to his success, he would pillage for his own gain. The alcohol, the thrill, the sex. It was all a whirlwind of events. He was a hooligan of the seas – cutting anyone down who opposed him and ravishing those who wanted him with sex and nothing else. There was no romance in his kisses, only mockery or blasphemy against religion or anything that got in his way. To commit sodomy, and to be sodomised, and drink until he could not remember anything else. Nations or humans, it did not matter, as long as they thrust deep and were rough and exhilarating.

It could not last. The flurry of sex, thievery and alcohol all ended as the Europeans begun to explore further than Europe and Asia and Africa. The new world welcomed him, and Arthur became transfixed. He loved adventure just as much as he loved wealth and sex and success – and the new world promised all of the above. Yet when he arrived there – probably sober for the longest time since he had become ruler of the seven seas – he fell in love with the environment, and the prospects.

Then there was that little boy. Arthur could not explain what it was about him, but Alfred pacified him. He was pure, innocent, and even after Alfred had chosen him over the others, Arthur knew that he had to hold onto his affections. He had to make his boy trust him. Arthur's bad habits ceased, and he turned a new page in his life. He became a fraternal figure – one that had responsibility, and could stop Alfred doing so many mistakes that he himself had made. He had been foolish, thrown himself about carelessly, and damned the Heavens. Alfred was precious. Special. He could not let the boy fall into the same rebellious nature that he had adopted. He'd give the boy the silver spoon in his mouth that he never had, and the home-cooked meals that he would have wished for. In actual fact, that was one of his downfalls – Arthur spoilt that child. Gave him everything he needed, but oppressed his growth in the aims of 'protection', and not to mention, his own gain.

When Alfred rebelled against him with that fucking Frenchman, Arthur thought he had failed to pass on the message. He tried to make Alfred's life protected and perfect, though to shape him to the lessons he had learnt from his own mistakes, instead of letting Alfred discover those lessons on his own. As soon as he let go, Arthur realised that he had been so wrong all along. He had held onto Alfred, shielding him from the rest of the world, when in actual fact Alfred was capable and resourceful enough to manage on his own. Alfred had, within years, what had taken centuries for Arthur to develop. He was a raw talent, strong and with justice prevailing in his mind.

Arthur had been so selfish. He thought he could control something that was not meant to be controlled – something that was able and born to become far greater than he ever was. As he watched Alfred grow, flourishing into a great being that Arthur never would have dreamt of letting him become, Arthur knew that he should never have tried to capture, suppress, and harness it.

It broke his heart to see the boy he had raised go and forsake him. But if he hadn't, and if Alfred had not reminded him that they had never been 'brothers' to begin with, he never would have seen the phenomenon that the golden boy was meant to be – young, but just as developed as the rest of Europe. Hundreds of years beyond what he should have been.

If Alfred had not left, Arthur wouldn't have fallen in love with him. Suddenly he was mature, suddenly he was intelligent, and suddenly he was attractive like Arthur had never even known. He never once took the time to appreciate him – he was always so, so busy – until he was gone. You always find yourself loving what you can't have.

He was not the only one. Francis had always been there, throughout Arthur's life. He had always felt an attachment towards him – as a fraternal figure while his true brothers barely cared about whether he could chew or talk until he was invading their lands – and that wavered through the early few centuries of Arthur's life. He hated being dominated by French leaders or forced to read the French language, and perhaps that should have been more of an indication of Alfred's eventual revolution than anything else. He would hate to admit, but he had been too dim to notice the correlation.

He hated Francis, and then he loved Francis. Theirs was a relationship that was ever so confusing. They would fight constantly; rip at one another's hair, kicking and biting, or making snarky comments about one another's fashion sense. Though there is no denying that there is a spark between them – something that makes them constantly invested in one another's thoughts and opinions, and wants and desires. Even if it is to undermine them. To put it simply, Francis and Arthur – through their lives together – always maintained an… interest in one another. The tension that ran between them buzzed with energy and it never ceased throughout however many years they knew each other. Never once did their interest in one another fade.

It was natural that Arthur would have realised that eventually, he wanted to kiss Francis instead of punch him. The realisation opened the Pandora 's Box of his life. Such strong feelings, and he had never known.

Of course, now Arthur was faced with a conundrum. Love was never easy.

The problem of loving two people at the same time is, in fact, staggeringly common. Arthur's feelings varied for the two men that had stolen his heart (in a manner of speaking, we all are aware of chemical reactions inside of us being the cause for attraction and this thing we label as love), but they were nonetheless just as strong.

They captivated him in similar, but equally dissimilar ways. Alfred was handsome – a raw talent, resourceful and filled with genius, but with his own drawbacks and childishness which Arthur, honestly, found charming just as much as goofy and stupid. Love with Alfred would be an adventure in its own way, and he would never let a dull moment come across them. He would whisk him away, but they could also take care of one another – he could imagine Alfred and him cuddling in bed, with that boy wearing that stupid expression on his face that made his heart race. He'd be less refined, and he could imagine them fighting so many times, but that was part of it. Besides—honestly, who could turn down a good, constructive, heated discussion as long as they knew that whether happened, they would love each other at the end of it?

Francis on the other hand was a typical, traditional romantic. He enjoyed the simple life. A more refined, perfected life. Their conversations would be more geared towards discussion of the arts, literature, long lost prose and customs. Francis was effectively a representation of a life that they had left behind – to hold onto tradition and decency. While Alfred thrived in the modern age, it was true that both Arthur and Francis shared a love for the past. Truthfully, they were has-beens. Previous empires that had lost the supremacy and the top of the hierarchy that had previously been dear to them. Alfred would not be able to understand that feeling – knowing that what made you grand was lost. Francis could empathise. In general, Francis was a lot more empathetic – perhaps not always agreeable, but he would understand nonetheless. It saved a lot of bother.

He could imagine how life with Alfred and Francis individually would be. With Alfred, they would wind down after work with a cuddle and they'd watch TV. They would have dates in famous restaurants that had some sort of gimmick, or they'd visit magnificent places. Alfred would let him have time to himself when he needed it, but he would always want to be in the spotlight – he'd want his eyes on him. He was selfish but endearing like that. It was true that, young as he was, Alfred knew exactly what he wanted and knew how to get it.

With Francis, Arthur could imagine winding down with a good book and some classical music. They'd go about their quiet lives individually, but together. It would not be too loud, it would not be too thrilling – and truth be told, that was more alluring to Arthur than not. He liked the idea of the peace, the tranquillity, and the discussion that Francis offered. He was like fine art in his private life when he was not letting his romantic side come to the forefront – something that was pristine, but needed a particular type of person to appreciate. Francis wouldn't do many dates visiting particular places, but he would make a romantic effort. Surprise picnics in the park, boat trips along rivers, operas – Arthur liked that.

They were so different, but they brought two very different things to the table. From the modern age, demonstrating never a dull moment and promises of much laughter – yes, even from his mouth – to the love for the past, the pleasant, the simple but also intricate, with passion and peace being the delicacy of their lives. They both flirted with totally different sides of his personality.

Just… which could he live without?

It was horrible to know that he could have either, but if the wrong one is chosen, that is the end of it. He had to know, but not regret his decision. But at the same time, none of them would wait forever. It was a status that could become his downfall. But who?

How was he supposed to know?!


All these thoughts managed to run through Arthur's head – albeit subconsciously – as he sat in his bedroom waiting for Alfred to return. He tried not to think of the implications of what they were about to do, but it was hard not to. How many people in this world are lucky enough to have the ability to have both the people they fell in love with? In reality the choice was stressing Arthur out more than giving him supremacy and joy. He was 'in control', but he was pressured to make the right decision.

He was going to break someone's heart, and he hated it.

It wasn't that neither was good enough. It wasn't that he did not want one. It wasn't that what he felt for one necessarily transcended the other. Having never actually dated either of these men, he had no idea what was actually right for him. He had no idea what would make him happiest, or who he – if their bosses allowed it – may marry one day. In reality neither could be right, and it could be heartbreak for all three of them.

He just did not know.

Arthur cupped his mouth and stared at the floor as he ran through the scenarios in his head – from him telling Francis that it was him and seeing Alfred get kicked down like the saddest little puppy, to Alfred being the one he chose but ending up regretting letting Francis go.

Alfred had made it perfectly clear. Neither him nor Francis would wait forever, and neither wanted a poly-amorous relationship. Arthur didn't either – it would be too unfair on them. Alfred didn't like Francis in that way and vice versa, so in that case it would be selfish for Arthur to expect them to fall at his feet. He just wished he could decide now. He just wished he knew. If only the balance tipped from one to the other and actually stayed there. But he supposed, that was the point of this.

He would get a taste of them now. He would see them competing for his affections first-hand. Then they'd take him on a date or two individually. Whoever was right would win this silly, Godforsaken competition. Because that was what it was. It was a petty fight for what they wanted. Arthur groaned and smothered his head in his hands. He was like an object, a piece of meat, but could choose the owner of himself. What sort of sick game was this? Who in the right mind would orchestrate such a stressful ordeal?!

He would be angry if they underestimated the difficulty of what he had to do, that was for sure.

His worrying about the situation did not cease when the bedroom door inevitably creaked open. In tailed Alfred and Francis, and all Arthur could do was look down – away from their faces. It was demeaning to them and it was demeaning to himself, having to go through this type of life-changing decision. This should have never happened. Arthur found himself cursing his heart and the sabotage that it was causing; chemicals shooting through his body and making him feel sick from the stomach to the bone.

It was Francis that moved first – Arthur knew that he was more empathetic. His eyes widened when he realised that he was making such ridiculous assumptions about them that was unfair. Just because Francis moved first did not mean that Alfred was going to understand the situation any less. Arthur knew that. This was getting out of hand.

"Alfred, would you go get Arthur a drink of water, please?" Francis asked Alfred as he knelt in front of Arthur and reached up, brushing his hand over Arthur's cheek. The Brit looked at him in annoyance, as if the move had been unwelcome, when in fact it was exactly what he needed.

Alfred puffed out his cheeks and opened his mouth to complain, before Francis shot him a look. They shared an unspoken conversation through facial expression ('I'm not leaving' – 'And you want him to be uncomfortable?' – 'Well, no…' – 'Then get to it'), before Alfred finally caved in and hightailed it out of the room.

Francis shifted, moving from the floor and up to the bedside next to Arthur. The mattress sunk down at the additional weight. Arthur refused to look up at him, still trying to organise the thoughts in his head. "Mon Lapin, I need to know what it is that is on your mind before I may help. You couldn't tell me what is on your mind, could you?" The Frenchman said soothingly, moving his hand down to brush in a nurturing manner against Arthur's thigh.

Arthur gave a small choke of a laugh. "Don't give me that, you know exactly what the trouble is."

The response made Francis frown, though they both knew it was true. Whether it needed to be or not, Francis tried to reiterate the problem just in case. "You are worried about having to pick one of us, when you believe that we are both worthy of your affections and you don't want to make the wrong decision. Yet, Arthur, you are more concerned about our losses than for your own – is that not true?"

A furrowing of a thick pair of darkish brows told the tale that Francis was expecting to see. He had not quite thought of it that way.

"Arthur, Arthur… I know you more than anyone, let us not forget that. You might consider yourself to be selfish, because either way you will get the one of us that best suits you—However, I daresay that neither Alfred nor I believe this decision is easy on you. Nevertheless, whichever one of us does not win you over… we don't blame you for it. We cannot. It's difficult on all of us, mon cher."

"Right."

Francis blinked, having not quite expected that type of despondent reply. He narrowed his eyes a little bit and squeezed Arthur's leg. The Briton just smacked it away and turned towards the Frenchman.

"Please!—You want to know what I'm afraid of?!"

"I know what you are afraid of, Arthur. Don't try to raise your voice with me," Francis sighed. It was always stress that made Arthur the most uncooperative. He absently shuffled his hair and scratched his nose before he looked Arthur in the eyes. "You are afraid that you will lose us. If you choose one, you think that what we had that made you happy in the first place between us all would disappear altogether. You shouldn't be so foolish, Arthur. You are not going to lose that."

Arthur looked both annoyed and sceptical. He raised a brow and was about to argue back. "I don—"

"—Don't what? Believe me? Look, Arthur. Just because, hypothetically, you and I don't become partners does not mean that I will just abandon you. Do you not think that we would at least stay friends? Lover or not, Arthur, you are important to me. It does not matter if we are the ones to share our lives together in that way or not—I will still be myself around you and I shall expect the same in return. This whole event is for you to, perhaps, find more in us than what we already had. Whether you get closer to me, or get closer to Alfred, you will never lose what we previously shared. In actual fact, if you changed your ways towards me just because you and Alfred are together, I would be very displeased. Do you understand what I am saying, Arthur?!"

The Briton gaped for a moment, struggling to come up with an answer to that. Normally it would take quite a lot of confusion for Arthur to feel so slow and dim-witted towards formulating a come-back, but it was so difficult to disprove what Francis had said. Eventually he sighed, not seeing the point of trying to argue back.

"…Yes. I do. Of course, I wouldn't wish for either you or Alfred to be different towards me either. I suppose I just expected you to want to, I don't know. Suppress yourselves, or distance yourselves…"

"Would you have done that for us, Arthur? Block us out from your life just because someone else owns the right to your body and your heart?" Francis asked, out of sheer interest.

Arthur looked down almost guiltily, and Francis knew instantly that it meant that he had assumed that to be the case. The Frenchman shook his head and circled an arm around Arthur's waist, tugging him in before he reached over and took the slimmer jaw into his hand, tilting his head back up. He smiled as Arthur's breath temporarily ceased.

"…Oh, my Arthur. I want you to understand. If I am your lover, I will take care of you and give you what you and your body needs in a romantic sense, but if I am your friend, I will still cherish what we have and I shall expect the same in return. Je t'aime, mon amour ou mon ami. That will not change, only the type of feelings will." He kissed the top of Arthur's forehead softly, before he started to move down.

"I am your friend above all else, but consider me further, Arthur. I have so much I wish to do with you…" Francis purred, and stole a soft kiss from those plump British lips. The door creaked open after, and Alfred gave a loud, possibly irritable cough.

He swept in, bringing the cup of water over to the bedside table before he took a step back. Standing uncomfortably with his arms crossed and his eyes darting every direction except from the kissing pair, it was clear that Alfred was impatiently waiting for his turn. As if that was how this would work; Arthur had to push Francis away barely a few seconds in to let out a sigh.

"Oh, don't mind me—You guys just do, er, whatever you're doin'," Alfred muttered dismissively and waved a hand at them. Arthur couldn't blame him for being uncertain – especially after missing his and Francis's little 'moment' – but felt guilty nonetheless. He shimmied a few inches away from Francis and made space for Alfred to sit on the bed. The American's closed-off body language continued as he climbed on and looked at the bed sheets rather than any of the other two. "So—uh. How are we doing this?"

The question that had been going through all of their minds, but none of them had uttered it yet till now. All three of them paused for thought, before Francis opened his mouth—Alfred immediately shot him down.

"No, ain't doing that," he grumbled. Presumably Francis and Alfred had talked about this exact thing before now, if their plan had gone this far. The American shrugged and he nodded at Arthur. "You're the one this is all about. How do you want us, babe?"

Arthur lifted his hands as if to say 'don't toss that responsibility over here, how should I know?!' which made Alfred rub his temples in frustration – until Francis leant over and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened, and slowly a smile came onto Alfred's lips.

"Yeah—Yeah, I could definitely do that," he grinned ominously.

The next thing that Arthur knew, he was slammed down to the bed with Alfred clambering on top of him – his wrists caught in one of Alfred's hands, which surprisingly was strong enough to hold both of his down. As jade-green eyes searched upwards questioningly, Alfred pushed his spare hand over his bare stomach – tracing the centre line straight past his heart till he heard Arthur gasp beneath him. Carefully, Alfred's lips pressed to his neck a few times.

"Shhh… Shh, baby," he urged as the Briton tried to speak. He sealed their mouths together chastely to quieten him, reassuringly stroking up Arthur's side – though Arthur didn't know what for. He quickly became concerned, especially as Francis disappeared from view. Alfred rolled his fingers over the arch of his back, tugging Arthur up so their chests pressed together. Warm breath settled over Arthur's skin while Alfred moved to suck above his jugular.

It was easy for Alfred to keep him down and still – every time Arthur so much as flinched, Alfred would kiss another part of his face and stroke a sensitive spot – like just above his hips – or he'd dig a fingernail in near his nipple just to see how Arthur would react. Much as he enjoyed the intimacy, Arthur was not sure he liked being held down presumably for something.

"Hey, open your legs a little will you?" Alfred asked.

Pardon?

The towel was stripped away, and it was obviously not by Alfred since Arthur knew very well where Alfred's spare hand was – rubbing his shoulder blades till he bucked sensitively. The cool air rushed over him, and Arthur tried to curl up protectively till another pair of hands forced them right the way apart. Alfred kept his eyes focused on Arthur and he tipped his chin up to make certain that Arthur would watch him.

"Reckon you'll need that glass of water soon," he said, before Arthur let out a sharp gasp.

A pair of lips sealed over him, and a finger gently stroked up his penis, making the small male tense significantly. Frantically, Arthur fought against letting out any noise. Alfred laughed softly, and he slipped his hand down to cheekily cup Arthur's behind as Francis swirled his tongue around Arthur's uncircumcised tip. Francis held the foreskin down as he lapped, trying to awaken Arthur's body to an aroused state. He sucked gently once he did, licking from the very base up to the small exposed tip.

"Ah, I do love an uncircumcised man sometimes… So much more responsive to this," Francis muttered as he dug his tongue against the head, watching the muscles on Arthur's legs twitch.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Nah. Circumcised is where it's at, mine is much prettier."

"Are you criticising my dick?" Arthur said, narrowing his eyes at Alfred before the American let out another laugh and swallowed Arthur's further comments with his lips.

The comments were forgotten soon as Alfred dipped his tongue into Arthur's mouth, while the opposite happened with Francis – the Frenchman's mouth descending down over him till he was almost in his throat. Clearly Francis was well versed in this activity, gag reflex barely present. It was attractive, feeling an experienced man show him his specialised expertise. While Francis did not choke, Arthur almost did as pleasure took him, distracted by both of their tongues.

His eyes threatened to fall downwards, and Alfred did not seem to like that. He grabbed Arthur's chin and forced him to maintain his gaze forwards at him alone. "You watch me, is that understood, honeybunch?"

Arthur nodded, transfixed as he was made to stare into Alfred's eyes. His view of the male did not cease, even as Francis started to bob his head and sneakily stroke the inside of his thighs till the muscles hidden within relaxed. Prompted by jealousy from the noises that Francis was making Arthur emit – small whines, caught breath – he laid his hand softly over the pale Brit's lips in order to quieten him. A perhaps strange gesture, if Arthur disliked it, but that was not the case. Arthur kissed Alfred's palm, and the American watched him with intrigue.

The Briton jolted as two fingers were pressed to his entrance, then all the way inside of him. Francis rolled his fingers in a circular movement, pressuring every accessible inch of Arthur's internal walls that he could reach to test his resistance. His mouth was removed with a sticky pop – much to Arthur's disappointment – and he sat up. In next to no time, Francis's drying clothing was stripped away and he climbed in-between Arthur's legs.

"Uh, what do you think you're doing?" Alfred asked, narrowing his eyes and glaring back at Francis as the male pumped himself a few times in preparation for entrance into his beau. "We agreed."

"Agreements may be flexible in this case. We never completely specified that you would be the one to penetrate him first, Alfred," Francis said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, great, suddenly go back on what you said! You are a great pal, honestly!" Alfred grumbled, while simultaneously sliding his hand up and down Arthur's sides to keep the other preoccupied with his touch. "Dude, stop being stiff—no, don't turn that into something lewd—I let you pleasure him now, didn't I? Now it's my go."

"Oh yes, I pleasured him while you kept all the kisses and swallowed his looks all for yourself." Francis said, rolling his eyes. This was exactly why neither of them wanted to make this polyamorous. As wonderful men as they were, both would agree – begrudgingly – to be at least a little bit greedy. A sentiment that always referred itself to their ideals of love.

"You could hear him moaning, couldn't you? Besides, fuck off, you already finger-fucked him in the bathroom – you've had your first go, buddy!"

"Finger-fucked? Oh mon dieu, Alfred, how romantic."

"Are you trying to say that I can't be romantic? I damned well can and you know it! Jeez, if it weren't for Arthur here I would have probably punched you in the gut already," Alfred growled, clearly unimpressed by all of these accusations. "Besides, I would take way better care of him. You're just afraid of fun."

"Pardonne moi? Oh, look who is sprouting nonsense again! Do you ever tire of your running mouth, Alfred, or are you sadistic enough to insist on inflicting others with it?"

"Woah, stop being a douche!Besides, your vibe whatever went first yesterday. It's only fair!"

"That makes no sense and you know it!"

"Christ above, shut the Hell up, both of you," Arthur snapped, shoving Alfred's hands away from him and sitting up so he was level with the arguing pair, of whom froze immediately. His unimpressed look spanned from Alfred to Francis and back again – lower eyelids twitching as he stared. Little ticks always seemed to arise in situations like this, filled with irritation.

"Firstly, I would like to say that arguing with one another like this right in front of someone you are about to sleep with is ridiculous. I can't believe I have to tell two grown, presumably experienced men that! And then to gossip about idiotic things like who goes first? Blimey, what a sodding insult!" Arthur exclaimed, hand-gesturing his disgust. He shook his head and maintained his glare.

"Art—I—"

"—And another thing! Please don't interrupt me while I am talking! Now, I know you both want to appear all in control and assert your dominance all over the place in order to get the better hand over one another, but let me assure you that I am certainly not impressed by all of that pointless bollocks right now! Did I really have to fall for two complete morons? Think of my feelings for once, Christ me."

Alfred opened his mouth to talk again, but Arthur shushed him with one dirty look. The atmosphere was tense all of a sudden, and Arthur was certainly not helping with his annoyed body language. He grabbed the glass of water that Al had delivered earlier and downed a gulp or two.

For people who claimed to be after his heart, they were not exactly the best at reading the situation as it was. Perhaps he expected Alfred to be a little bit complacent about this, being younger and less experienced, but for Francis to join in with the petty arguing? Really. These were intelligent men, he did not doubt that, but sometimes they needed to have their common sense drilled back into their skulls.

He realised that perhaps it was their feelings towards him that was getting them into such a tangled tulle. Both of them wanted to make the most out of this. Both wanted to put in the best impression. But this was not the way to go about it. Not at all.

"Which is why I am taking this into my hands. You think I can't decide what to do for myself? Let me make this clear. I'm not your little adorable trophy wife. I've got feelings and I am not going to be a pushover, so if you want to have someone who clings onto you and forgives you instantly for everything stupid you do, then you certainly don't want me. If you do, get out," Arthur said harshly, and he pointed towards the door.

Francis and Alfred both shuffled uncomfortably at the scolding, but neither tried to leave. Something in Arthur seemed to sigh with relief.

"Honestly, you two. What do I do with you?" The Englishman murmured, and his shoulders deflated a little, tension of the movement beginning to pass. Another pregnant pause passed slowly by them, before Arthur shimmied out of the way of the centre of the bed. He gestured to Alfred. "Lie down."

Alfred's long and thin brows creased, and he looked inquisitively to Francis before he obeyed, laying down on the bed where Arthur had pointed with his chest facing up. He patted his upper thighs and waited for Arthur to do something. "Why?"

"Because I'm in charge now. Stay there and look handsome," Arthur demanded, as his hands scrambled downwards. He tugged at Alfred's clothes and peeled them off quickly, tossing them aside to join the others. Arthur took a moment to take in the view of Alfred's chest, from the broad shoulders to the pectorals that were arching upwards. His build was both muscular and lean – a larger chest in proportion to a relatively slim waist; not as slim as his own, but there was definitely a tapering effect. He held his hand over Alfred's skin, noticing the difference between their tones – a whitish peach, in comparison to a very lightish brown. His natural tan, blessed to him from his land and sun. Alfred's physically attractive figure made Arthur's breath catch.

"Baby doll?" The American began from underneath him. Arthur shook his head to stop him murmuring anything else and finally let out an exhale. He pushed his hips back, grinding against Alfred's erection but not actually letting it penetrate. He stared on, watching Alfred's reaction – his mouth opened, a pant let out, white teeth revealed beneath. His eyes rolled up and his lashes fluttered with enjoyment.

"Mon cher… I trust you would not forget about me, would you?" Francis said, sealing a kiss or two over Arthur's neck. Why, he couldn't possibly let Alfred take all of the fun, could he? Frankly he was appalled by Arthur's concentration on the other man. With a small twinge of spite flowing through him, Francis's hands started to explore Arthur's chest, falling from the small and ridged collarbones to the almost perfectly rounded, darkened nipples. His fingertips swirled over the tiny nibs, rolling the centre with the pads.

"C-Course. Francis, don't worry. Your turn will be soon. Get me the box, will you? Cuffs, Francis, cuffs…" Arthur moaned and he gestured with his head back behind him, to the box of goodies on the floor behind them. Alfred's eyes widened a bit.

"Huh? Hey, Arthur, I'm definitely into bondage and stuff – make no mistake. It's hot. But I really don't want to be trapped in cuffs and all in front of Francis—Especially not when we're trying to—"

Alfred was stopped with a kiss, deep and lacking in chastity. As Francis obeyed and fetched the cuffs, Arthur coaxed Alfred's tongue out of his mouth and suckled on it gently, before they accelerated into a flurry of fast kissing and pushing of lips on and off of one another, tongues often touching and their saliva becoming traded between them. Their bodies built up further with unsustainable heat as they ground their hips together, erections and buttocks grazing – skin contacting skin.

It was with a tell-tale click that Alfred figured out Arthur's intentions. Arthur pulled back and he tugged them to test the metal's strength.

He nodded at Francis. "I know you do like a good show. Let me show you mine. Remember that I'm not going to just be your little bitch, both of you. Remember."

With that, Arthur shuffled right over the top of Alfred. The American male let out an exhilarated gasp of excitement, and gave a cracked grin. A small, barely audible 'yes' left his mouth as Arthur, dear Arthur, placed the pink, puckered entrance to the very tip of Alfred's aching cock. His fingertips twitched, and Alfred looked desperately up at Arthur – just itching to grab his hips and shove him straight down over him. To seal himself within the man he loved's truly unbelievable warmth, just like the vibrator Arthur had attributed to him last night had been.

"Don't you dare," Arthur growled dominantly, and he pressed himself down. Slowly, Alfred's cock pierced past the first ring of muscles about an inch in, and he continued to slide further as Arthur brought himself lower and lower. Alfred couldn't help but tip his head up to the headboard, exposing that large Adam's apple of his and letting out the most strangled gasp that Arthur had heard for years.

Ah, it had been too long.

"Alfred," Arthur praised.

Alfred was easily the largest of the three in both girth and length, but it was yet to be proved if he was any good with it. There had been barely any rumours about Alfred's sexual exploits. It was with Alfred's confidence only that alerted Arthur to the fact that Alfred had, most certainly, slept with others before. But, of course. He was not as young as his face betrayed – but even that was aging steadily. Within the last few years, Alfred's jaw bone had become more pronounced. More masculine. Even more of him would follow. He would be fine in his twenties, a sight to gawp at. Arthur could barely resist.

Of course, it was not just his body that Arthur wanted. It never would be. But he could admire it – seek it, need it, become irrevocably desperate for it.

He took a second once they were fully connected – they both did. They stared at one another, breath leaving them as they realised that their fantasies with the other had become true with the simple insertion. How long had he wondered how Alfred would feel? What Alfred would do if he could get his hands on him? – If he loved him.

And he did. They both did. They both did…

"Christ, Arthur—Stop looking like that, oh my God," Alfred groaned from beneath him and shimmied his hips upwards impatiently, wanting Arthur to start riding already.

It took till Alfred talked for Arthur to realise that his mouth had been caught, gaping numbly as he stayed still with Alfred stiffly erect inside of him. His cheeks were bright and rosy, flushed. He blinked and shook his head, trying to snap himself right out of it. Now was no time to lose himself, like he did last night – almost senselessly exploring himself and his limits with those toys, as per Alfred and Francis's manipulations. He was still angry about that, but that could be pushed aside for a moment or two.

He kept back his trepidation over the situation. Knowing that he had to decide something that changed everything between the three of them – something that they had willingly passed onto his shoulders – soon was tossed aside for now. All he could think of, wanted to think of, was inside him right now, or would be in next to no time.

He raised himself, using the muscles in his thighs to pull himself almost off of Alfred – right till the very tip was sealed within and no more. He then slammed back down, beginning to build a pace that was easy for Alfred to follow. Within no time at all, Alfred's hands firmly placed on his hips and the male started to help him along. While Arthur might have objected at the beginning, he couldn't help but let Alfred take hold of him, guiding him along in the simple task of raising his hips and falling down again – gravity being their third assistant.

Arthur closed his eyes and listened to the slick sounds of their bodies pressing together. There was some friction when their thighs – Alfred's outer and his inner – brushed, and where there was the most contact, actually inside of him, a sticky sound emitted from within. The handcuffs jingled. It was good that Francis had prepared him so well, because this would have been so much harder without proper lubricant. As it was, sloppy noises came from in-between them. Arthur's ears occasionally caught the snagged sounds of Alfred's breath, which was slow and drawn through his gritted teeth unless when he let out his small, defenceless grunts.

"Arthur, ugh, Arthur…" he could hear that faint American vocal chords groan. When Arthur finally opened his eyes again, he was greeted with a primal, instinctive look in Alfred's eyes that confessed just how much Alfred wanted to seize this opportunity. It was raw need, intense concentration as Alfred pressed his hands back and cupped his bottom, squeezing it as he helped lift him with so much ease. Though some perspiration was building on Alfred's forehead in arousal, it seemed like the low thrusts that the younger male's hips gave, rolling up and up each time Arthur fell, was effortless. Like his strength, it seemed his stamina knew no bounds. Only Alfred's arousal might have been his shortfall. He was blushing a deep red now, panting and his movements started to go off of rhythm as Alfred brought Arthur down.

Alfred gave a soft laugh, and Arthur frowned at him as he slammed back down over Alfred's tip, like several times before. The American just shook his head, and he grinned at him. "I want to tell you things, but it feels kinda weird with Francis here."

"Al—Tell me."

"Nuh-uh, it's alright, I, ungh…"

"Al—"

"You look so beautiful right now," Alfred murmured, and gave Arthur a genuine look – no room for doubts here, Alfred meant every word. "You look so beautiful. You've got this flushed look on your face and you keep like, zoning out and it looks like you're enjoyin' this so much. Ah… God, Arthur. Yes. Yes."

Arthur tried to prevent himself smiling back, but he couldn't. So instead he tipped his head up to the sky, just listening to what Alfred wanted to say – letting each word sink in, becoming absorbed in the moment and channelling it towards their joint gratification. "Keep going…"

"And—And I just want to kiss every part of you right now. I wanna, ugh, I want to take care of you and—God Dammit, Arthur. I want to flip you around and plough you into this bed. I," he shifted himself, sitting up and grabbing Arthur around the waist while his lips burrowed against Arthur's naked neck, darting warm breath all over the tips of his collar bones. "I want to make love to you slow. Slow at first, then I'd give it to you harder. I wouldn't be—ngh—satisfied till you were moaning for me. For just me, Art. And, and I'd make sure you'd… mm. You'd cum first. Or I would at least kiss and take care of you until you did. I am going to… I'm going to, ah…"

"Al, hold on. You're getting too far ahead of yourself, calm down a little," Arthur moaned, trying to warn him about his accelerating pace. Alfred clearly was getting closer to orgasm than he was, but it wasn't too surprising. He was older, he had more experience, and Alfred was such an enthusiastic lover. Arthur kissed his cheek, his nose, and then his mouth, while Alfred searched his way up Arthur's back, groaning into their kiss.

A third hand found its way onto Arthur's body, grasping hold of the Briton's shapely behind and smacking it gently. A tickling sensation went up his neck and then moved to his ear, and soon there was a light sting were Francis's teeth bit into the shell till Arthur and Alfred's kiss broke. Arthur yelped, and he tried to hit back, but Francis took the opportunity to grab his wrist. "Ah, ah, ah. You did not forget about me, did you, ma petit chou-fleur?"

Opening his mouth to comment, Arthur found something suddenly being pressed against his half-opened lips. He glanced back at Francis questioningly, before he faced forwards, eyeing the thing Francis had placed there. It was one of the vibrators – the deep blue one that Arthur had dedicated to Francis the night before. His eyebrows furrowed, and he kept his teeth in the way so Francis could not simply push it in.

"Oh, if you are worrying about hygiene… do not worry, I just cleaned it thoroughly. Where did you think I was? And besides, Arthur—you have probably given fellatio to things that have been inside of you before. There is not too much of a difference, is there?" Francis purred, rubbing the cheek that he had grasped and kneading it in his palm while his mouth started to kiss Arthur's neck again. "Suck it."

Arthur finally opened up, willingly sucking the toy into his mouth. The Frenchman guided it a few inches inside – just enough to fill Arthur's mouth but not penetrate into his throat – and let go.

Instead of controlling the item that he gave Arthur to suck on, he grabbed the chain holding his handcuffs together and he yanked it back. The Briton undoubtedly would have yelped, had his mouth not been filled up, but a guttural noise came from somewhere in his throat. He tossed a look behind his shoulder and caught a glance of Francis's sly expression – a smirk on his lips, framed by his beard, and an intending look in his eye. Arthur was kept from falling backwards by a hand that cupped his hand, giving it just enough support.

"Ngh, oh yeah, Francis hold him like that," Alfred praised, observing the figure that he could see before him with enthusiasm.

At the angle Arthur was held at, the slimmest of the three's body could be easily taken in – the white expanse, mostly smooth and without much muscle definition, all the way up to a jutting ribcage and up further to visible collar bones and his clear Adam's apple. Alfred tried not to salivate at the sight, but he did bring his tongue into action. He leant up, and rolled his tongue over Arthur's chest, licking right the way from his upper abdomen, to the subtly thumping jugular at his throat.

Francis's lips met the other side of Arthur's neck, and the Briton's shoulders tensed immediately from the surprise. Alfred purred out some reassurance, and the Frenchman just rubbed Arthur's hips softer. The Briton could only gasp numbly, mouth filled up and his hands trapped so he could not remove it – right now he was at the mercy of the other two men. And strangely enough, he did not dislike it.

The thrusts from below progressively became more and more erratic. Soon it became clear that Alfred was on the finishing throes before he would be through. Arthur looked down and gave him an intense gaze, as if internally begging him not to stop – like he wanted this to go on forever. Alfred took one look at it, and he shook his head slightly just in time before he groaned out loudly and slammed up against Arthur one more time before there was a sticky and hot feeling spilling into Arthur from the inside.

He slumped against the bed and looked up apologetically at Arthur – he wanted to go on just as much as Arthur had wanted him to, but he couldn't help being young. He was not even out of breath, only panting ever so slightly. His stamina certainly did outdo him.

The Briton wanted to tell him that it was alright to have cum when he did – he was quite close himself – but the scenery changed. So quickly, he was wrenched off of Alfred and dragged away, air hurtling past him before he could interpret what was going on. Suddenly, he was pushed, perhaps even slammed, against a flat surface. There was barely any time between Alfred's withdrawal and the sensation of another cock entering into his body. Smaller, yes, but of course—it was what you do with it that counts.

There was darkness. Francis's hand – he assumed – folded over his eyes to keep his sorry eyes from any seeing. In the dark, there was a click and another jangle. His hands were freed, so Arthur pushed them in front of him to figure out where he had been slammed against. He could feel that it was smooth. Very smooth – smoother than the wall. It took him a few seconds to realise what would give such a clear sensation, and when he realised, he let out a slow exclamation past the vibrator jammed in his mouth.

Speaking of the vibrator; another click, and it was on. The vibrator started to lowly pulsate in his mouth, stirring against his cheeks and tongue, and the roof of his mouth. He heard himself let out a loud 'mm', and Arthur reached up to try pull it out. His hand was swatted away.

"Angleterre, you are not questioning my methods to pleasure you, are you?" Francis groaned in his ear. The Briton shook his head, and tried to keep sucking the vibrator to trap it in his mouth – it was threatening to vibrate backwards and fall out, and jamming his teeth into the toy gave a sensation which even he was not sure he liked – while he tried to readjust to the new penetration. He found himself missing how deep Alfred went, but Francis had yet to show his merits. Undoubtedly, where Alfred made up for with raw talent, Francis would exhibit his virtues in a different way.

"Remember when we were young? I took you to that lake in my land, do you remember? The one with very clear water," Francis murmured into his ear, too quiet for Alfred to hear – wherever he was. While Francis talked, he started to give slow thrusts. Each time, he only pulled out an inch or so before replacing himself. It was softer, less haphazard than Alfred's frantic pressing, and was much more deliberate. "You saw yourself in the reflection, and when I looked away, you started to cry because you thought you were not an attractive little thing?"

This was the name of Francis's game, the way he would tempt him. Delving into memories – though, Arthur had to question the one that Francis had decided to mention. Why bring up a past insecurity about himself?

"My Arthur, open your eyes," he said softly and kissed the shell of his ear. His hand withdrew from his eyes and moved downwards, cupping his hips instead.

The Green-eyed male looked ahead, and stared into those same eyes. He looked at the rest of himself in the mirror that Francis was casually making love to him against. His cheeks were almost bright red, flushed from arousal. His lips were widely parted, with the end of the vibrator poking out from in-between them as he held onto it. His eyelids were narrowed, eyelashes slightly wet on the lower lid. Blond hair was tossed in his face, strewn messily over his forehead and a few strands reaching down near his eyes. He watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, taking in the sight.

"Look how beautiful you are now, Arthur," the oldest male purred to him, slyly sliding his hands up and down Arthur's hips as he started to increase the intensity of his thrusts – but not the pace. It remained slow, but soon Francis was pulling almost totally out before sliding back into him. The change stimulated Arthur more than he thought – it helped him recover from his near-orgasm with Alfred, slowing down and letting the intensity rebuild. "You're so beautiful."

He tried to shake his head, which was easier said than done in this position. Francis only gave a low tut, and he grasped the clean end of the vibrator. Without switching it off, he pulled it right out of the Briton's mouth and he watched him tremble with relief through the mirror with a dirty smirk.

"No, don't speak—" Francis begun as soon as Arthur threatened to open his mouth. Instead of tossing the vibrator away, he started to drag it over Arthur's sensitive flesh. He thirstily drank in the sight of Arthur trying not to shudder from the mere touch of the buzzing toy, and dragged it down to touch one of Arthur's nipples. An unwilling shout emitted from the shorter male and he cupped his mouth so he wouldn't have to watch his moans in the mirror. Francis wouldn't let him look away. He circled the vibrator around his nipple until he watched. "—See this? This, is lovely. Such an attractive pink, calling for me. Want me to touch the other, Arthur?"

The Briton refused to answer, but Francis knew how to handle the situation.

"Arthur? Tell me, do you want me to touch it. If you don't answer, perhaps I won't?" He teased.

A small murmur.

"What was that, I cannot hear you?" Thrust, thrust.

"-"

"Louder, please. Tell me, Arthur, want do you want?"

"Just do it you twat!" Arthur shouted out, bowing his head after seeing the words tumble out of his mouth right in front of him. He hung his head as if shamed by Francis's actions and the forced admission. It seemed that Francis took pity on him, because he started to give him the same treatment on the other side. A few gentle kisses were pressed against Arthur's neck, sucking lightly until Arthur gave in and looked up. He wanted to watch Francis kiss him – his lips pressing up his neck, his beard tickling wherever his lips had previously been. He moaned as Francis kissed the edge of his jawbone.

"I apologise, Angleterre. I just want you to see. You deserve this, Arthur. Do you really think you would attract the both of us if you were not beautiful? Handsome, whatever word you would like. But I think you like 'beautiful', don't you?" He said and winked at Arthur through the mirror. The Brit groaned, but kept his thoughts to himself.

(Fuck Francis, why do you have to know everything?)

Francis's thrusts continued to be slow, but they became eventually more and more powerful. With each go, he would push Arthur into the mirror, where he would have to fight against watching himself moan and writhe in the mirror in front of him – the same mirror he watched the night before, picturing them touching him. Now, he didn't need to picture it. A pair of hands were already rubbing against parts of his body. The other male had already came inside him. Had he been flexible enough to check all the way back behind him, he would have seen that Francis was a little bit coated with Alfred's cum from inside of his now wet chamber.

"You're close," Francis observed. Arthur swallowed down the series of pants that he was trying desperately not to let out – refusing to let himself see the weakness that Francis and Alfred gave him – and watched as the Frenchman tapped the tip of his erection with the buzzing vibrator. He shouted out loud, a strangled noise, and tipped his head ceiling-wards. He hadn't realised. Now that Francis had told him, he realised that he was struggling to hold his orgasm in. "Just let go, Arthur. Finish yourself for me."

And as if on command, he did. Arthur gripped the sides of the mirror, and he came against it, spilling onto the shiny plain. Francis held the vibrator against his shaft while he finished, the last few ribbons of cum darting out of him before he slumped slightly and gasped, shuddering against Francis as a pulsing sensation flourished through his head, sparks fizzling out after the initial ignition.

The taller of the two pulled out of him, and he motioned to Arthur that he should get on his knees. Arthur obeyed, and he opened his mouth to take Francis in expectantly, all too ready to finish him off – but disappointed that it was over. Francis guided himself to his lips and pressed the cock-head against those rosy—

"—Francis, wait," Alfred's voice came from behind them. Both Arthur and Francis glanced over, ready to see what Alfred had to say for himself.

Sitting on the bed with his legs crossed and his back leant behind, holding himself up with one arm, Alfred was slowly pumping himself. He had acquired a new erection, totally stiff and reddened with arousal. He must have gained it when watching Francis slam Arthur against the mirror. Noticing that Arthur was staring, he gave him a wink and removed his hand to let the Englishman see just how ready he was for another go around – it stood perfectly up, though threatening to come all the way back to rest on his chest instead.

Arthur breathed out slowly when Francis removed himself from near his mouth. Of course; he was a teenager. Quicker to finish, but also quicker to get it back up. Alfred's stamina really was, rightly, inhuman.

"Alfred, are you suggesting that we…" Francis muttered, looking down at Arthur while he spoke, dragging his fingers through his honeycomb blond hair.

"That is precisely what I am suggesting. You wanna do it? We know he likes it," the American stallion replied, getting up onto his knees and clearing a space on the bed. He threw Arthur's duvet off of it, and smoothed down the bed sheet that had unattached at the corners through their efforts.

"I think it would be better to pose the question to Arthur," the romantic responded, and he knelt down before Arthur. Taking the soft cheeks into his hands, Francis made certain that Arthur was looking at him in the eyes. It was easy to consent but not mean it, after all. He had to know that his heart was in it; that this was not their sexual prowess running wild but a love-making that Arthur wanted to experience.

Arthur swallowed, not quite believing that Francis was going to ask this of him. Yesterday, he never would have known.

"Arthur, I'm sure that you are perfectly adept enough to realise what Alfred is asking of you. What I am asking of you," he begun, rubbing his cheek over the flushed skin, fascinated as it turned whitish when he pressed even slightly. "We want to both be penetrating you at the same time, Arthur. Would you like to do it?"

He paused and waited for Arthur's response.

The Briton seemed quite blank in the eyes, like he could not believe that this question was being posed to him at all. It seemed so farfetched, and in a way he was actually scared. He knew he was physically capable of it, and he enjoyed it with the toys, but this was completely different. This was not just some pointless masturbation, moaning for two men that he never would have. He had had sex with them now. They loved him. They wanted him to perform the same deed.

"Bugger me sideways…" He murmured, disbelieving that this would happen to him, before he gave Francis a look to make sure he knew that the words were just mutterings. Arthur brushed a hand through his hair nervously – picking up ticks from Alfred, it seemed – and darted his eyes between them both. Alfred was on the edge of the bed, looking positively adolescent as he tapped his thighs impatiently, wanting some release. Francis was controlling himself far better, but there was no denying that he was having to hold his orgasm for quite a while as they got through these details.

He closed his eyes, wanting to make himself blot them out for a second. He couldn't think about this with their faces right there, eager but pressing. But why was he dillydallying at all? He wanted to experience this. He would never have another chance to have them both at once. He wanted to feel them both inside of him again. But—…

Oh. What was the 'but'? He couldn't recall one. Why did he need to take the time out at all? Because he was blown away by the offer? Because he was a bit intimidated by the thing itself? He already knew he could do this. They had nothing to fear.

He gulped and nodded, letting his eyelids fall open. "Yes, I want it," his serious reply came, and Francis found no trace of a lie. Besides them, Alfred tried hard not to fist-pump the air.

He was heaved up in next to no time onto the bed. Alfred swooped in to give Arthur a kiss and a megawatt smile, and Francis pecked at his shoulder lovingly. Their hands wrapping around his waist and stomach was an odd feeling, because he could not tell which were whose without looking. He felt like he was being smothered, drowning in their loving embraces – different styles, but with identical intentions.

"Francis, how will we—uh…" Alfred started, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the bed thoughtfully, wondering the mechanics of what they would be doing. Francis rolled his eyes at the question.

"Did you not hear what he said earlier? Arthur said that he wanted to be involved in the decision-making. He'll tell us what he wants," he growled and pulled away from the Brit. Alfred followed his lead with an apologetic look on his face, as if he thought that his poor management would end him already.

Of course – Arthur still needed to decide between them. The memory would have made him groan had he not immediately pushed it out of his mind. Not tonight – he couldn't think about this tonight.

Swallowing, Arthur looked over them both, deciding on what to do. A snare in the moment came from nowhere as he realised that this was probably not going to mechanically work. He had to voice his concerns. "It's all very well thinking about doing this, but we have to be serious. We don't have any proper lubricant, and I'm sorry but I will not put my body under all that potential damage."

The atmosphere took a plunge.

Alfred sighed and let his shoulders sag, but he leant closer to Arthur and kissed the shell of his ear. "It's okay, babycakes. We don't have to do it. We could just have a little bit of you-know-what, hm? I really want you," he purred, trying to make the most out of the situation. He moulded his lips over the top of Arthur's neck, and listened to Arthur moan and felt the motion of his nod. Alfred lowered Arthur to the bed and cuddled with him, brushing his hot, throbbing erection against the white skin of Arthur's inner thigh. "You have no idea what I want to do to you… Mm…"

"Alfred," Arthur moaned back, entangling his slim arms around Alfred's neck and pressing their noses together, letting the hot mood begin to enmesh them again. "If it's anything like what I imagine, gosh, yes. Heavens to Betsy. I know. I know what you want."

"Heavens to Betsy? Heh. God—you're—so—mm—" Alfred stammered out, kissing Arthur in-between the pauses. He rocked his cock against Arthur's leg, trying to get some steady relief as he waited for Arthur to get hard again. "—cute…"

Before Arthur could flay Alfred alive for calling a grown man – one that was significantly older than him – 'cute', a cough came from behind them, and they had a look at the third male almost accusatorially for breaking the beginnings of a nice, subtle love-making. Francis sat there, twiddling something in his fingers. It was a small bottle of a blue gel, close to finish.

"Francis I swear to God if that is lube I will punch you," Arthur groaned, sitting up. He knew the brand and the flavour. In fact, he had a similar bottle of the stuff in his house. He could have sworn he had had some left.

"It is lube," Francis stated, popping the bottle open. "We shall have to use this, non? It is a shame, it has an exquisite flavour."

"That's it, I'm going to punch you. I needed that! Do you know how stupid it is to use things with alcohol and perfume in? I had to use lotion, Francis! Lotion! If I ripped last night-!" He growled, glaring at the Frenchman like he was a total idiot, and by Arthur's reckoning he was. He definitely was. "What do you even have to say for yourself?!"

"We were bound to get to this point, mon cher," Francis tried to explain. "I had to think of the future. I swiped the bottle just in case. There is barely anything in here, Arthur. Only enough for one round. We wouldn't have been able to do anything otherwise. It is not clever, I realise, but it was a necessary precaution."

"Right. So you risked me being in a load of pain because you wanted to have enough lubricant just in case you and Alfred fuck me at the same time. Lovely," Arthur growled. Before Francis could respond to justify himself a little bit, Arthur stormed over on his knees and snatched the bottle from him. He threw it to Alfred. "Lie the fuck down."

Francis sighed. He was clever enough to realise that if he tried to speak again, Arthur would shoot him down immediately. Obeying, he laid on his front. It seemed like Arthur was taking the suggested activity anyway.

"You try to do something like that with me again, Francis, I will—" he sighed and shook his head. "I don't even know what I would do. It's good to know that you aren't flawless either. You may have known that this would happen, but it doesn't make it a good enough excuse."

He climbed on top of Francis and positioned himself over the top of him, just like he had done with Alfred not too long earlier. He shimmied his hips till his entrance was fitting over Francis's head, and he rubbed against it without letting it penetrate. Because Francis had been so close to finishing before, the head was smeared with pre-cum, which Arthur transferred onto himself. The feeling was wet, but oddly arousing.

"I better punish you. But what would you want? I'd let Alfred be the only one to have sex with me for the rest of this evening, but I want you. You're an annoying prick, do you know that? I'm annoyed with you, but I still want you inside of me. You both are sodding unique in that respect," Arthur scathed.

He pushed his fingers over Francis's plain chest. It was a lot smoother and less muscularly toned than Alfred's, but it was still quite attractive. He liked him with a little bit of hair there too – enough to be rugged, but not over the top. It differentiated him from Alfred, really. It was a fresh, more-realistic manliness in a way. Alfred's body was one that was awe-inspiring to look at, but Arthur loved to see little 'flaws' – if they could be called that. In a way, they made him feel much better about his own body.

"I know you. You'd want to see me moan, my face, my body move against yours," Arthur evaluated, rolling his fingers over Francis's abdomen thoughtfully. He smirked and found Francis's eyes, which were taking him in. Bingo. "It's why you did me from behind but kept me in front of the mirror, isn't it? You wanted to watch. It gives you joy, doesn't it? Seeing your efforts do good for a man…"

Francis cracked his mouth open, but Arthur gave a tut and shook his head to make sure whatever thought Francis had was silenced. It was. Finally, Arthur felt some power over the impenetrably proud and resourceful Frenchman. So he lifted himself up, and he turned around before positioning himself over Francis again – reverse cowgirl style. With a glance over his shoulder, he grinned sadistically at the disappointed expression on the Frenchman's face.

Got him. Of course. Francis exerted his efforts so much because he wanted to see and devour the fruits. This denied him that. It was a good punishment. It was nice to know that he had discovered a weakness from him.

He slammed his hips down, taking Francis right back inside of him. A loud moan came from behind, and Arthur joined in. Francis's cock felt a lot thicker from this angle, buried balls-deep inside of his hole, of which also cushioned his fall. He started to rise and push back down, developing a quick rhythm – one that was far faster than Francis gave him when he was stuffing him against the mirror. A sweet mumbling came out of Arthur's mouth as he closed his eyes, enjoying the heated friction of Francis whipping in and out of him due to his own set pace – trying not to moan too hard to give Francis some satisfaction. He could feel Francis's legs tense, writhing somewhat impatiently because all he wanted to do was to see.

Arthur was kissed from nowhere. Of course, Alfred. How could he forget his Alfred? He kissed back, having to slow his movements a little bit so he could concentrate on the feel of their lips sliding together. Alfred was putting part of his soul into this, kissing deeply, dragging him closer before pushing his tongue into Arthur's mouth and exploring him that way. Their saliva mingled, and he knew a noise that came behind him was a whimper from Francis because he knew he was missing out.

When the kiss was broken, Alfred grabbed Arthur's hips and stilled him. Francis would have to wait for any more relief. The American licked Arthur's cheek on the way to his ear, and he laughed lightly at the feeling of closeness, despite the Englishman being penetrated by another man. "Gotta be slow, peaches, I've got to get you ready for me too…"

The smell of blueberry came into the room as Alfred slicked up one of his fingers. The next thing Arthur knew, Alfred was sliding the digit into him alongside Francis's cock. He gasped and grabbed Alfred's wrist, warning him via the motion to be gentle. Alfred obeyed and kissed him again, eating up any potential complaints. He probed Arthur from within, rubbing the lubricant from his finger all over Arthur's inner walls wherever he could reach.

"Francis, I swear to God this is the most touching I will ever give your dick again, gross," the boisterous American said, pulling a face. It was pretty clear from the get-go that a threesome relationship would not work out, when Alfred found no sexual appeal towards Francis at all. Francis, though, Arthur trusted, was probably a little bit more liberal to the idea – but why force something that would not work out?

It was just a shame that he had to figure out how to piece everything together. How was it possible to do that without breaking one of their hearts?

Another wet finger joined the first, and Arthur suddenly grabbed Alfred's shoulders when he felt the American scissoring him. He felt so full already, and Alfred was pushing the boundaries. If he thought about it a little bit more, he might have been terrified. Alfred was the larger of the two, and he was not inside yet. Arthur wished that this would go as smoothly as he hoped. He looked down and saw his chest thump up and down to go with the beating of his heart. His breathing, now that he realised it, was very heavy. It caught constantly, snagged by effort, and he had to force himself to rekindle his lungs of breath. A hot, melting feeling was embracing his spine – spiralling upwards from the aching point where Alfred's fingers pushed against him from the inside. Since they were pushing up, Alfred's fingers were closer to his prostate. Arthur wondered if he was going to be utterly senseless after this. He already felt like he was going to collapse.

"Alfred, enough," he demanded, and the fingers were tugged out with a sticky noise. Another sloppy sound filled the room as Alfred squirted and rubbed the very last of the lube over his hard shaft.

Before Arthur even realised it, he had been laid right back. His body was pressed against Francis's, and the Frenchman held him around the waist to keep him there. It gave Alfred enough room to slot in-between both of their legs, and he hiked Arthur's right up and apart. He replaced his fingers with himself, carefully slipping into the Briton. When he was met with resistance, he kept going. A minute or so later, Arthur was stuffed full with the thick girths of two grown men.

He had no thoughts. In his mind was nothing but silence. He just could not think. Everything was clouded over with pure sensation. It hurt, but in the best of ways. His mouth was open, eyes staring at the ceiling. He could detect the hissing sound of his inhales, the warmth of the two inside of him, but detecting was all he could do right now.

He detected a voice. Someone was asking him if he was alright. For some reason, time felt like it was moving slower – or maybe, they were dawdling longer than he expected. Green orbs searched for blue, and Alfred's worried face came into view. Arthur read his lips.

"Arthur? Are you alright?"

He didn't know. He didn't know anything right now – anything other than the feeling of them within him, their cocks pulsing lightly as blood surged through them and kept them erect. All for him. They were close to bursting, ready to fill him up with fluid. Ready to cum.

Somehow, he managed to nod. Or he must have, because Alfred smiled lightly, and he buried his head into his neck and started to whisper sweet, loving nothings to him that Arthur could not quite interpret as words. There was suddenly motion, and then the two men were rhythmically sliding out of him before plunging back in. The pace was slow and excruciating. The only place that Arthur did not feel numb was right there, where Alfred was starting to plough into him strongly while Francis kept up best as he could with the pace.

He heard groaning. Who was that? He looked at Alfred and saw that the American was too busy kissing his neck and smiling for it to be him. It did not sound like Francis's voice either. It must have been him. He was moaning loudly, very loudly. He watched his arms swirl around Alfred and tug him closer for comfort, and Alfred pulled up a little to look at his face. Whatever Alfred saw, it was alluring to him. Arthur knew because he blushed back, and grinned so widely. He repeatedly murmured the same thing over and over again.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

The other's voice said the same thing.

Someone changed angle. It sent Alfred and Francis straight against his prostate, pressing against it with literally every thrust. Arthur screamed in pleasure. Colours filled his vision, fizzling over and taking his sight for seconds at a time. He felt a burst of energy, and his chest was wet seconds after. Not too long later, the same warm, wet sensation was splurging into him too. One load then the next, not quite at once but close enough.

He groaned at the loss of one of the large shafts exiting his body, and again at the next. When they pulled away, one from in front of him and one from beneath, he reached out for someone. He didn't know who took his hand and kissed his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. You were so good to us," they told him. "Mon petit chou-fleur…"

They kissed. Then the other one kissed him too. His body felt numb, completed and lethargic, like he would never be able to get up from this spot again. But he was not distressed. The feeling in his chest was nothing less than euphoria. A happiness that consumed him.

Someone picked up the duvet and laid it over them. Two sets of arms embraced him, and brought back some of the heat. He could barely respond to them at all, even though he wanted to. He wanted to thank them, to tell them that he loved them too. But all he could do was give himself to darkness, as the exhaustion finally claimed him.


When Arthur woke up, he was alone.

He winced and looked up, glancing at the spaces on the bed. Had it been an elaborate wet dream? He rubbed his temples and shook his head. It couldn't have been. He could feel the ache in his hips, and the wetness within himself and on his stomach. They had been here. They had made love to him. Meaningful, precautious, everlasting love.

He laughed. All of this time, he thought that he was loving them senselessly. That they would never want him back – either of them, let alone them both. He smiled, and remembered what had happened. He had blacked out completely. It must have been half a day later, and he had slept ceaselessly in order to recover. Still, he probably would be bed-ridden for the rest of tonight.

Bless these bed sheets. They were going to be utterly ruined. He would have to throw them away. How was he meant to get cum off of silk? Time, he thought, for an easier to clean alternative.

A frown came to his lips when he realised that they had, indeed, left. Glancing around, he tried to see any sign of them. Their clothing was gone, the room was tidied, and his special box of goodies was stuffed back into the cupboard where it belonged with the vibrators, the handcuffs and all. It seemed to be hopeless, till he went to look at the alarm clock to see what time it was.

There, on the bedside table, was a tray. He reached over to collect it, swearing at the pain between his thighs. Dragging it back, he placed it on his lap and had a look at what they left him. A single red rose was stuffed into a shapely glass vase. They had kept the thorns on. Arthur smiled – they knew him better than he expected. He loved thorny roses the most. They were glorious, but prickly and difficult to obtain. He missed the obvious metaphor.

He picked up the fork, and he dipped it into the pasta that they had made for him – probably to make up for having him miss all of the meals during the day. A chicken and ham carbonara, it appears. He took a forkful of the pasta and took a taste, melting at the divine textures of the pasta, the meats, and the creamy sauce spiked with a touch of black pepper. While he ate, he took a look at the rest of the goodies. There was a book, no doubt to entertain him for the duration of being bedridden. He realised that a small tablet was beneath it. Well, at least he could watch some iplayer too. BBC television was a lovely thing to behold, at times.

Finally, and he came to this last deliberately, he stumbled upon a folded sheet of paper. He pushed his fork into the pasta for now, and he opened it up to read the messages they had left behind.

It read thus:

"Dear Arthur,

We apologise for leaving you on your own, but Alfred and I have agreed that it would be better for you to have some time alone. We have flights to catch back to our countries, after all. I hope you may forgive us.

I know that it would be ridiculous to let you make your decision between us after just this one night. You need to have time to consider. But there is something else I would like to propose. Alfred and I decided that it would be best for us to demonstrate what we could offer you as your lover by our own terms, individually. If you would allow us, we would like to take you on a 'date', one for each of us.

I look forward to showing you around Paris personally, mon cher, and Alfred has asked me to assure you that he is excited to escort you through his plans as well.

Call us when you want to set up your dates. We'll be waiting for your call.

We love you very much. Do not doubt that from either of us.

Hope that you feel better soon. Please enjoy the selection of treats we prepared for your waking. Alfred says that he wants you to know that he does not require his tablet back.

- Francis and Alfred."


And lo, there was an update.

Sorry for the huge delay - life matters, you know the drill. My heart is back in this.

- Love, DS.