A month should be easy when Gil survived two and a half years alone. Even when it was meant to be two weeks, until Agatha’s trip stretched to four and Tarvek’s to three. Even when…
He tucks his face against the top of Agatha’s head and just breathes her in, holding her tight. “Welcome home,” he mumbles into her hair. It catches in his throat, but he adds, “Missed you.”
She rubs one hand in a soothing circle on his back. “I missed you too. And it’s good to be home.”
He moves without letting go of her, shifting just enough to nuzzle into her cheek. “Let’s go home? I mean--to the Castle?” It’ll be tough to stop touching her for long enough to get across town, but then he can start again right here. He's missed holding her so much. “I want--” Everything. Anything, as long as it’s with her, and he doesn’t resist the urge to tilt her chin towards him and kiss her, trying to be slow, be patient, when he wants -- wants to hold her against him until they both fall asleep cuddled into each other’s warmth, wants to fuck her until they’re both too exhausted to move, wants to kneel at her feet, wants to kiss her like this all night.
She pulls away from his mouth slowly, raising one hand to rest against his cheek. “I have to give Van this report, but after that.”
He unwraps his arms from her, and she steps away. As long as he’s with her, he can wait, he reasons; but then he looks at her as she gathers up the notes on the table. She’s beautiful and flushed faintly pink, and the little smile she gives him when she hands him the papers is nothing special, but it makes him want to wrap himself up in her and never let go.
Holding her hand and listening to her recount the last four weeks as they walk through the city is enough for the moment. They both break down giggling when she describes the impasse that led to her being elected as Arbiter of the Mouse, and they’re still laughing as Agatha pushes open the door to the Sausage Factory. Vanamonde waves them over.
“Good to have you back, my lady,” he says, pushing a plate of pastries toward them. Agatha takes one and munches absently on it. “Mechanicsburg has been--normally eventful. How was Varnesz?”
“Mmf,” says Agatha, swallowing her bite of pastry and handing Van her notes. “I figured we could do reporting proper once Tarvek’s back? He said he’d be in tonight.”
“Tomorrow morning, then?” says Van cheerfully, scribbling something down in his calendar. “Or later in the day?”
“Er--later.” Agatha’s ears go a gratifying shade of pink.
If he’s noticed (he definitely has), Van doesn’t react -- he just takes another sip of his coffee and sets down his pen. “If we need the full council, there’s time, but we’d have to schedule it after the Generals’ standing hour for tea and throwing furniture.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Agatha, slipping her arm through Gil’s. “And--if that’s all?”
“Don’t let me keep you,” says Van, raising his coffee cup.
The usual assortment of greetings, shouts, and the occasional monstrous yell follow them through the rest of town and up the hill to the Castle, where the gates fling open ominously.
“Welcome home, Mistress! Have you brought our neighbors weeping and gnashing to their knees?”
“Still no,” says Agatha.
“Well, I did have several good ideas while you were gone for interesting new ways to use the empty dungeons. But you two seem to have something else in mind, so.” The floor drops out from under them, and one bruising passageway ride later, there’s a grinding of stone and the Castle spits them out in a heap. “Unless you’d rather have the dungeons.”
“Ugh,” says Gil, taking Agatha’s offered hand and getting to his feet. The Castle, predictably, has dumped them at the door of their bedroom, but for once he isn’t complaining. (Much.)
“I don’t want any input from you ,” says Agatha to the Castle as she opens the door. Gil swears he hears the Castle grumble before she shuts it, but then it doesn’t matter because Agatha’s arms are around his neck and her mouth, hot and insistent, is on his. Fugue crackles into his mind as he kisses her, kisses her until they both have to stop and breathe before he can kiss her again, clutching her close as everything dissolves into lips and tongues and hands. She matches his ardor easily, making soft sounds into his mouth as she kisses him back.
He's panting as he breaks from her mouth to nuzzle into her jaw instead, drawing a pleased little hum from her. “I missed you,” Gil mumbles against her shoulder before kissing a wet line across her collarbone, mouthing into the hollow of her neck. Even the arousal humming through him doesn’t drown out the ache of weeks of loneliness, but having her soft in his arms doesn’t hurt. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” she says, her voice breathy and starting to go Sparky. “I’m sorry I--ah!” He cuts off her apology with a sucking kiss to a spot he knows makes her writhe, swiping over it with his tongue to make her shiver again. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. That--that we both were.”
“It…” He abandons his attempt at explanation in favor of kissing at her pulse-point. It makes her shudder, but then he feels her still and pull back. With effort, he lifts his head away from her and lets her go, trying to force his heart rate to slow. “Agatha?”
“Talk to me first,” she says, and her face is flushed but there’s concern in her expression. “Come here.” She takes his hand and leads him to the bed. When she pulls him down next to her, he wants nothing in the world more than to wrap himself around her and gorge himself on touch alone, but he waits for her to move. It doesn’t take long -- she presses one hand to his face, thumb brushing over his cheek, and he has to bite back a sigh. “I really am sorry we left you alone, Gil. I know how hard it is.” She doesn’t say for you ; she doesn’t have to. It’s always there between Gil and the others, that lonely space he drowned in for so long.
“I,” he says, his voice going thick, “yeah. I did try.” It doesn’t feel like enough. He got more sleep, but not every night; ate more meals, but not all of them; spoke to people, but not that many. He knows it’s progress, but it’s not enough. “I managed, though.”
She lifts his hand to her lips and places a kiss in the center of his palm. “I know you did. And I’m so glad you’re trying so hard. You really are doing better, you know.”
“I only caused two explosions this time,” he says, moving his hand to cup her face in a mirror of her own gesture. He catches the rim of her glasses, putting them back when she wrinkles her nose at him. The moment of levity goes, though, and he struggles a moment for words. “Thank you,” he says, when he means so much more than that. “I love you,” he adds. He can’t ever say it enough. “So much.” She’s smiling gently now, and the weight of the last month starts to uncoil between his shoulders. Everything is alright, will be alright, just as long as she smiles at him like that. “Can I keep kissing you now?”
The gentle smile spreads into a broad, bright grin. “I love you too,” she says, pressing herself closer to him, and she’s so warm and soft even through all their clothes. “And I’ll be quite disappointed if you don’t.”
“Oh,” he says, slightly absently. Now that he’s thinking again about kissing her it’s all he can think about, especially when she’s so close and her full, pink mouth is right there . “Good.”
Gil applies himself with abandon to the task at hand. It’s always been a matter of enthusiasm between the two of them -- enthusiasm and abandon and Madness, and Gil’s whole being crackles with all three. He gets one hand in her hair and one around her back, and she winds both hands into his hair and pulls him against her, matching his fierceness easily. It’s not long before the kissing turns messy, unending, Mad. They could do this forever.
He loses track of time completely, drunk on her mouth and her hands and the steady comfort of her arms and the build of his own arousal, and he only rises from the haze when she unexpectedly slips both her hands under his shirt. He chokes on a gasp when she does it, and she grins against his neck and slides her hands, warm and calloused, up his back. He shivers at it. Then she drags her nails down, and he cries out.
“Mmm,” she hums against his neck. “Gil?”
“Can I--” He gives a Spark-tinged moan and rolls her onto her back, and the way she smiles up at him makes it even harder to think.
Her hands come out of his shirt, and the loss is acute, but it’s more than made up for by the sight of her kiss-reddened lips and the anticipation--and glint of mischief--in her expression. She reaches up to trail her fingers, just lightly, along the line of his jaw. “What are you waiting for?” she teases, tilting her head and grinning.
Sweet lightning, he’s missed her.
Instead of an answer, he says, “Ngh,” and presses his face into her cleavage, breathing in the scent of her skin, of home, for a moment before kissing across the tops of her breasts. When she laughs, he can feel it vibrate through her chest, and as he starts fumbling with the buttons of her blouse, she tangles one hand through his hair to tug the way she knows he likes.
It takes him a while to unclasp her bodice -- he’s out of practice, clearly -- and the second he’s pushed it and her blouse from her shoulders, she wriggles out of her camisole. His dick twitches in his trousers as her breasts spring free, and he doesn’t think before he leans forward. When she presses a hand to the back of his head, drawing him closer to her chest, he nearly whines. Her breath catches as he licks at one stiffening nipple and again when he takes it between his lips and sucks.
“Like that, like that,” she says, letting her hand tighten in his hair enough that it hurts. He throws himself enthusiastically back to the task at hand, lavishing licks and kisses on both her breasts, sucking hard, chasing more of those sounds she makes. She’s squirming, her breathing heavy, before she pushes him gently off her and tugs at his shirt. “Take your clothes off,” she demands.
His trousers are painfully tight at this point, and he’s desperate to touch more of her skin -- she doesn’t have to ask him twice. By the time his trousers hit the ground Agatha is naked too, fixing him with a gaze that’s all at once loving, hungry, and more than a little predatory. She’s beautiful, and she’s too far away. He pulls her down on top of him, needing to touch her more, needing the weight of her over him. She laughs, and lets him, and ends up straddling his lap. His hips twitch, and he moans.
She’s golden above him in the light, golden and perfect and he’s hers completely, even more so when she tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear and smiles down at him. “I missed you,” she says.
“Missed you too--oooooh.”
She grinds against him again with a gasping breath, and he moans, but -- no. Not yet. He needs to feel her, needs to -- worship her, really. It would be so easy, so good to let her ride him, and his arousal is certainly in favor of that, but the way he’s missed her for three weeks wants nothing around him but her . “Wait,” he gasps, his hands settling tight on her hips when she immediately stops moving. “Up--up here.” He urges her upward, tugging at her hips. She raises her eyebrows, and he has to bite back a whine. “On my face.”
She flushes pink and flashes him a grin, wide and eager and slightly Mad. “Okay,” she says, leaning down to claim a kiss from him before she moves up his body.
Dizzy with the scent of her, Gil eases her over him, turning his head to kiss her thigh before urging her the rest of the way down. Agatha sinks onto his face and they both moan, Gil’s muffled against her, and he holds her by the hips and laps with abandon. It’s easy to lose himself in this, in the weight and heat and wetness and the taste of her. He can feel every little movement of her hips, can hear every noise she makes as they grow louder. He knows she’s clutching at the carved headboard when she shudders hard, and he knows she’s close when she just keeps shaking, and then the humming starts, muffled and frenetic, filling the room, filling both of them. She’s moving, riding his face, and he sucks at her clit and the music climbs to a breaking point and into a fractured cry as she shatters above him. He keeps lapping at her through all of it, encouraging the trembling aftershocks, until she pushes herself back from his face on unsteady legs until she’s straddling his stomach and smiling down at him.
She’s red-faced and panting and divine, and under her Gil is painfully hard, aching with how badly he needs her-- and then, abruptly, her expression goes startled. He follows her gaze to the door, where Tarvek is staring at them with wide eyes and parted lips and one hand frozen on the doorknob.
The deep blush on his cheeks does nothing to hide the want written across his face. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Gil wipes his mouth on his arm.
“I, ah,” says Tarvek. “I suppose I’m late.”
“Right on time,” Gil manages, even though words are proving difficult. Tarvek is bright red and slightly windblown and still wearing his traveling clothes, and Gil wants him too.
Luckily, he’s not the only one. “Join us?” asks Agatha, voice still ragged.
“ Yes .”
“Come here,” Agatha orders, Sparking again, reaching a hand out to Tarvek.
He crosses to her, takes it, and kisses the back of her hand. “What will you have of me?” he breathes. He already sounds half-wrecked.
“Clothes off,” says Agatha.
Tarvek sheds his coat obediently, his blush starting to recede as he pulls himself together. “I very much missed seeing both of you,” he says in a way that completely fails to be casual, draping his coat over a chair and starting on his cuffs, “but I will say, this is, ah. More of you than I was expecting to see so soon.”
“Are you complaining?” Agatha asks, teasing.
“Heavens, no.” He moves on to the buttons of his shirt, slowly exposing smooth pale skin.
Gil thumps his head back on the pillow and groans, still aching with want. Agatha’s warmth is close enough to tease him, and he’s sure she knows it.
“Hurry up, Tarvek, I think Gil might explode,” she says, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, his chest.
Tarvek is folding his shirt. “Isn’t that the point?”
“Not immediately,” Agatha says. She stops running her hands over Gil’s chest, instead tweaking one nipple and getting a strangled sound for her efforts. Still flushed pink, she looks pleased with herself, and then thoughtful for a moment. “Gil?”
“How do you feel about us both having you at once?”
Yes. Yes is how he feels, and he manages to say that.
Agatha beams at him, bright enough that he feels a little lightheaded, and asks, “Tarvek?”
Tarvek is just finishing undressing, pushing his drawers and trousers off. He’s already hard. “Don’t worry, I will absolutely partake.” He finishes undressing, stretches in a way that highlights the long lines of his torso ( showoff , Gil thinks fuzzily), and crosses to the bedside cupboard to dig around.
While he rifles through bottles, Agatha rolls off of Gil, stretching out next to him on her side. She kisses him soundly, almost lazily, before moving to her back and propping herself up in the pile of pillows. He watches her move.
The mattress moves behind them as bottle in hand, Tarvek climbs onto the bed to join them, He leans over to kiss Gil first--Gil, desperate by now, moans into his mouth--and then Agatha, who hums appreciatively. He takes his time kissing her, leaning over Gil to do so, so close that Gil can feel the heat of his body, so close, and watching as Tarvek cups the back of Agatha’s head, as she slips her tongue into his mouth, only makes him need the both of them more. “Please,” he says, helpless, “can we--”
Tarvek breaks away from Agatha’s mouth and moves back over, eyeing Gil up and down. The kiss this time is harder, less leisurely -- even demanding. Tarvek puts a hand on his chest, pressing him down into the mattress, and Gil doesn’t resist. He lets Tarvek hold him down, and he’s rewarded with a soft noise of interest from Agatha.
Tarvek lets go and moves back, eyes gone even darker, but then in one lightning movement he ducks back down and bites Gil’s lower lip. Gil whines, and Tarvek grins. There’s color high in his cheeks as he says, “Get moving, then.”
He does, slowly, rolling himself over and sitting back on his knees. “Agatha,” he says, helplessly.
She grins at him and opens her legs, pulling one knee toward her, and he loses himself a little at the sight of her, wet and pink and wanting. “Are you-- can I--” He swallows hard. “Fingers first?”
“If you want.” She reaches out, and he goes willingly, settling himself between her outstretched legs.
Gil finds very quickly that she doesn’t need it, not after his mouth, but he gets caught up in watching how she responds, every little sound and movement, every expression on her beautiful face as he fingers her.
Behind them, Tarvek’s breathing grows more ragged. “You really are beautiful together,” he says, almost too quiet for Gil to hear.
It’s a little while before Agatha opens her eyes, blinking down at Gil. “Alright,” she says, giving a little push to his shoulder. “Alright.” She curls her hand tight around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, and when he’s in reach she hooks a leg around his waist.
Hands shaking, mind starting to crackle with Madness, he takes himself in hand and aligns them. She sighs as he slides in, and he lets out an agonized breath as he bottoms out, clutching at her shoulders. She’s so good. So hot around him, her whole body soft and warm and familiar around him. It’s right, it’s coming home, but it’s not complete.
The bed shifts behind them, and Tarvek’s hand is on his thigh, pressing his knees apart so he can settle himself between them. Gil moves to accommodate him, hearing Agatha gasp quietly as he does so.
“I will need to adjust him,” Tarvek says; Agatha answers with a laugh.
“Go ahead,” she says, craning her neck to try to look at Tarvek. “Gil!” she adds, sounding startled, when he latches his lips to her exposed throat and sucks.
He pulls off with a wet sound, leaving a pink mark behind. “D’ you want me to stop?”
“Not at-- ahh!”
The effort it takes to keep his hips still is almost enough to distract him from leaving his mark on her neck, but he’s determined to out-stubborn himself. She’s making perfect little noises, and when she clenches around him he lets out a muffled cry into her neck.
Then he almost yells as Tarvek cups his ass and squeezes, sharply. He makes a choked, too-loud sound into Agatha’s neck, rocking forward into her, and Tarvek takes the opportunity to fit his body to Gil’s back. It’s -- it’s a lot, both of them surrounding him. He wants more of it.
“Ready?” asks Tarvek, voice thick with arousal and, somehow, still smug.
If Gil weren’t as desperate as he is, he’d snipe back, but he can’t make his mouth work. Or his brain. Not when he’s straining to keep from thrusting into Agatha, not when Tarvek is pressed against him too. But Tarvek isn’t moving. He wants him to move. “Yes,” he finally manages.
“Right, then, shall we?” says Tarvek, and slick, clever fingers press against Gil, only teasing at first. Gil can’t hold back the whine, or the jerk forward of his hips. He buries his head in Agatha’s shoulder, jolting into her; she lets out a quiet “ah!” and her grip digs into his back.
Gil hisses at the first breach, but it’s good, it’s so good. His world reduces to just the three of them, Agatha around him and Tarvek’s fingers in him, to being touched and held in place, to wanting them, to loving them.
Then Tarvek curls his fingers and Gil swears, his whole body jerking. There’s a brief pause, and Tarvek does it again and again until Gil is reduced to gasping into Agatha’s neck, his hips stuttering against her as she murmurs soft words he can’t make out.
Tarvek pulls his fingers out. “Ngh,” says Gil weakly.
“How are you doing?” asks Tarvek, his voice rough but serious. “Good?”
“Good,” Gil echoes. “C’mon.”
“Agatha?” Tarvek asks.
“Good,” she says from above Gil’s head. “I don’t even have to do any work!”
Tarvek chuckles, and then Gil can feel the blunt press of his cock, just a moment before he pushes in. Gil swears again, then does it louder as Tarvek withdraws, only to thrust back in.
“Right,” breathes Tarvek, bracing himself with one hand on Gil’s side and one on Agatha’s leg, and then he starts to move. He sets a slow pace at first, rocking Gil forward into Agatha almost gently. It’s not enough, and it seems it’s not enough for him either, and he speeds up until all three of them are breathing loud and ragged as they move together, desperate for more.
Gil slips into a haze of heat and want and love, wrapped up in both of them, moving together. There’s nothing else, just this, just them, and it doesn’t take long before he tumbles over the edge, his shout muffled in Agatha’s shoulder.
He slumps forward, spent, mind blissfully blank, pliant when Tarvek rearranges him and keeps going. His self-control is audibly slipping, and he’s mumbling fragments of curses, of praise, of incomprehensible gasps before he too cries out, shudders, and stills. There’s a long, still moment before he pulls free and rolls off the two of them to lay on his back, breathing hard.
Gil summons the energy to do the same, dragging himself to Agatha’s other side before collapsing, exhausted, still close enough to touch her.
“No, no, let me take care of that,” comes Tarvek’s ragged voice, and Gil listens to Agatha’s soft noises, feels her tremble as Tarvek brings her off. She digs her fingers into Gil’s arm as she comes.
Then the bed shifts again and lightens. Tarvek's hand brushes over his side as he goes, and then Gil dimly registers footsteps, a door opening, running water. “Let’s get cleaned up,” says Agatha, getting unsteadily to her feet, and Gil follows.
Tarvek is already sitting chest-deep in the bath, head tipped back and eyes closed, smiling, as they sink in next to him. Carved grinning faces turn to look at them as they do, which they all do their best to ignore.
Gil is a mess, but he lets himself just sink into the hot water, still touching both of them. They're quiet for a while, and it's nice.
Tarvek opens his eyes and stirs, eventually. “We do have to talk about Varnesz,” he says, in a tone that for him is absent. “And Merz, and the Duchess.”
“No,” says Agatha, flicking wet hair at him. “That waits til morning. Right now we are going to get cleaned up, and then we’re going to cuddle in my terrifying bathtub, and then I don’t know about you but I’m going to sleep.”
“Good plan.” Gil is sore and sleepy and happy and home, here with them. Half to be annoying, he nuzzles into Tarvek’s shoulder.
“Ugh,” says Tarvek, pulling Gil toward him. “Come here.”
Agatha curls in on his other side, throwing an arm over him and cuddling in. “We missed you too,” she says.