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It didn't take long for them to try it out, because Tulio couldn't stop himself from staring hungrily from one to the other on mornings (he had this thing about mornings) when they'd stumble from their individual shelters, rumpled vulnerable hair and sleepy skin soft with oil. Chel noticed it first. Miguel maybe didn't notice because he and Tulio only picked up on the other's expressions in the middle of a con; the rest of the time they barely seemed to notice their partner's emotions or expressions as anything remarkable. They merely absorbed and adjusted, linked together in a closed circuit of energy.
Really, Chel couldn't believe either of them thought he'd be able to manage without the other.
So they were three rainy days out of El Dorado and still getting their bearings, woefully lacking in supplies and -- oh, they wouldn't even talk about what happened with Altivo (Tulio pulled faces and stage whispered about Miguel's "abandonment issues") -- and they managed to find enough dry wood to start a fire and roast an iguana on the barbacoa. Hunger made her Spaniards wolf down pieces of the tender white meat without even a protest, just as well because the rains started coming down again as they were licking the grease from their fingers.
"One good thing about being in the middle of a jungle," Miguel offered, "the trees block most of the rain on the way down!" He grinned hopefully. Tulio held up three fingers, tucking each one down in turn; as his index finger folded beneath his thumb, the broad flat leaves above their heads reached critical mass and promptly dumped rainwater all over them.
"It's like you enjoy tempting fate," he told Miguel, who squinted from behind his curtain of hair. Chel smacked Tulio's elbow. "It's warm rain," she said, "not so bad. It's kind of nice."
Miguel had already taken off his shirt, scrubbing his arms vigorously with it, and he nodded at this comment. "There you go, Chel's got the right attitude." He ruffled up Tulio's hair with the shirt, laughing, then his own, and Chel noticed with interest the way that Tulio's eyes went black and he unthinkingly reached out to brush his fingers against Miguel's ear, his jaw.
Well, why not.
Chel bent her head into the shirt when Miguel turned his attention to her, but she also reached out with both hands to hold him, that pale skin made whiter by wetness. Miguel removed the shirt from her hair and she found him panting a bit, eyes puzzled but starting to spark. Her own breathing, she was surprised to find, had sped up as well, and Chel stepped closer and pushed her hands up and around, bringing her breasts against Miguel. He was shorter than Tulio but still tall for her; he blinked down, and Chel bit his chin, feeling his beard wet under her teeth.
A sharp indrawn breath from Tulio -- "... don't wake up, don't wake up," Chel thought he was saying -- and then he was over to them in two long lopes. A kiss for Chel first as his arm wrapped her waist and his hand luxuriously spanned her belly, a kiss for Miguel next as their angular shoulders aligned as naturally as the constellations. Structurally unsound leaves aside, Miguel was more or less right about being under jungle canopy, and the scattered warm rain served less to douse them and more to make skin slick, hair clinging, clothes dispensable.
Chel wasn't quite sure if the newness of being with two men trumped the newness of being with two Spaniards, so she decided it was a draw and tried not to stare too much at how pale their skin was, even more in places that didn't see the sun. She helped herself to touching, though, because they seemed to be touching her all over and it felt very nice; her fingertips skidded over the coarse darker hair under Miguel's navel, the silky skin behind Tulio's knee, all these rough-and-smooth bits of them, twinned and opposite, available to her discovery.
Licking her lips, Chel set out to explore her new territory.