“Do you remember that bill?” asks Romana.
Certain he’s misheard, Narvin raises his head to look at her, blinking incredulously. “The what?” he says, still working to catch his breath.
“The bill, Narvin,” she repeats, distinctly amused by his distractedness. She untangles her leg from beneath his arm and shuffles sideways to lounge back against the cushions. “The original, that is. From a month or so ago.”
He winces as Brax folds his arms thoughtfully across his back, leaning most of his weight onto Narvin’s shoulders.
“The refurbishment budget?” Brax takes a moment to consider. “Yes, I believe so. How come?”
“You cannot be serious,” Narvin states. He struggles to push himself up onto his elbows. “You’re going to talk about this now?”
“Well, why not?” says Romana, unable to suppress a smirk.
“No time like the present,” Brax agrees.
Narvin stares at her, despairing. “Now?”
Chuckling, Brax slips his arms around Narvin’s front, tugging him tight to his chest as he rocks his hips forward, tauntingly slow. Narvin’s breath catches in his throat, pleasure sending a shiver up his spine even as he shoots an impatient glare over his shoulder; he bites his lip hard and wishes Brax would return to his previous pace.
“Refusing a mundane political discussion, Narvin?” Brax’s voice is a low rumble, his breath ghosting over the shell of Narvin’s ear. “That’s not like you.” He punctuates his statement by turning to nibble at his earlobe, a smile evident in the curve of his lips as he continues down to kiss along the line of his jaw.
“Not at all,” Romana agrees. She reaches out and scratches her nails through his beard, tilting his chin up towards her. “Councillor Palix stopped me in the hallway today to update me on the most recent rewrite.” She runs her thumb over the corner of his mouth, wiping moisture from his beard with a satisfied smile. “Do you know,” she says, “I think I understand why Leela likes it after all.”
“The refurbishing budget?” Brax asks, knowing full well it isn’t.
“The beard,” says Romana.
He pauses, again, and shrugs. “I expect I’ll get used to it.”
Narvin huffs in annoyance. “I didn’t ask you to,” he mutters, wriggling slightly in an attempt to get Brax to focus. “At least Leela would be able to stop you talking politics.”
“Well, who sent her on a mission?” Romana points out.
“Who approved it?” he retorts.
“What did Palix say?” asks Brax.
Narvin groans, very much not in a good way, and drops his head to the mattress. Taking advantage, Brax turns his attention to the side of his neck and begins to nip a light trail towards the sensitive nerve cluster in his shoulder. He offers a little sigh of appreciation, letting his eyes slip closed—then yelps as Brax finds his pulse point and sucks hard, twisting away in an unsuccessful attempt to get him off.
“Stop that!” he exclaims, his voice pitching upwards. “You’ll leave a mark!”
“My dear Coordinator, you seem to be soundly missing the point,” murmurs Brax, and sets about soothing the spot with his tongue. “Now, what about the budget?” he mumbles against his skin.
Narvin makes a small noise of distress, though admittedly it’s a bit hard to mean it when Brax has begun to move again, with distinctly more intent this time. Wondering if he might be able to distract Brax into silence, or at least distract himself enough to tune them out, he guides Brax’s hand from where it curls around his ribs to his hip and hums in contentment as Brax takes the hint wholeheartedly, holding him tightly in place, his fingers digging into the hollow of his hip bone. When he glances up, it’s to find Romana nibbling on her thumbnail to hide a grin, taking a great deal of entertainment from his protests.
“Rumour has it,” she says, “a good chunk of money has been reallocated from the repair of the murals in the entrance hall, you remember the one?”
“Oh, yes.” Brax makes a great show of sighing and shaking his head—and, more importantly, stills. “A tragedy, really. They were beautiful.”
Narvin swears he could sob out of frustration. “Brax,” he whinges. “Come on.”
“Oh dear,” pouts Romana, in poorly feigned sympathy. “I think our Coordinator may be getting a bit impatient.”
“No rest for the weary,” Brax says. He trails a finger along the length of Narvin’s spine. “I do like the begging, though, that’s quite a lovely touch.”
“Quite.” Romana smirks. “Endearing, if I do say so myself.”
“Easy for you to say,” Narvin grumbles. “You’ve already had your turn.”
“A ‘please’ wouldn’t go amiss,” muses Brax. “Do tell, then, where’s the money going?”
“Not even you could possibly care about this right now,” Narvin says accusingly. “You just want to get on my nerves.”
“Well, I don’t believe they’ve finalized the bill,” says Romana. “But for now it’s been added to the CIA budget, to allow for the repairs to the TARDIS bays we’ve been asking for. Livia’s recommendation, apparently.”
“Will you just–” Narvin stops, registering the words. “Wait, really? How much?”
Brax, eager to ruin the conversation just as soon as he gets invested, chooses this moment to snap his hips forward, hard. Narvin gasps, biting off a cry as Brax sets up an unrelenting rhythm, pressing him into the mattress with every thrust; he rests his head on his forearms and arches to meet him, silently thanking the stars that he’s finally seen fit to stop teasing.
Laughing, Romana leaves her spot at the headboard and shuffles down to lie on her side next to Narvin, propped up on one elbow.
“It’s not that much, for the record,” she says. When he shifts one arm to look at her, lacking the resolve to actually lift his head, she cups his cheek in one hand and leans in for a passionate, somewhat artless kiss, more an excuse to slip her tongue in his mouth than anything. Narvin supposes Brax would object, but he isn’t complaining.
“Did Palix happen to mention what they’re planning for the atrium off the sub-council chambers?” asks Brax, a bit breathless but otherwise perfectly lucid.
Romana breaks the kiss to answer. “No,” she says. She runs her fingers through his hair, rubs her hand soothingly up and down his arm and presses her lips to the crook of his neck, alternating gentle suction and nipping until he gives a quiet groan, the feeling of both their hands on him at once almost overwhelming.
“How come?” she asks Brax, and resumes her assault.
“Oh, you know.” Brax is just slightly too occupied to shrug, but it’s in his tone. “I’ve been eyeing it myself. I have a few ideas.”
“Talk to that Councillor,” Romana suggests. “Oh, what’s his name…”
“No, the other one.” She spares a moment to kiss his temple, reaching out just slightly with her mind to tease his psychic receptors, and excitement curls even tighter low in his abdomen.
The conversation continues along similar lines for some time, though Narvin loses track of it rather quickly. He’s almost impressed by Brax’s multitasking skills, for despite holding a coherent conversation he has been thoroughly successful in reducing Narvin to quiet whimpers and vowel-based vocalizations—certainly nothing resembling coherency. Narvin, for one, is more than happy to forgo speech and bask in their attentions, far more interested in their current activities than any sort of politics. In fact, he realizes, it’s the first time in quite a while that he’s been able to forget work for anything. Perhaps their teasing wasn’t entirely cruel after all.
There is no gradual descent into silence for Brax; instead, he stops in the middle of a tangent about some statue or another and draws back, ignoring Narvin’s noises of protest.
“Turn over,” he murmurs, and Narvin shivers.
“Don’t order me around,” he mutters, though he knows it’s undermined by the speed with which he obeys and the expression of enjoyment on his face. It’s the principle of it, really.
Brax is smiling as he lays himself out over Narvin, hiking one leg over his shoulder. “You like it,” he purrs.
“I do not,” Narvin says huffily.
“I– oh…” Narvin abandons his argument, swallowing hard as Brax makes a point of brushing their cocks together. “Oh.”
Brax hums, pleased with his silence, and kisses his cheek once before lining himself up again and pushing inside. Letting his head fall back onto the mattress, Narvin sighs and grips Brax’s arm to steady himself, quietly savouring the press of their bodies together, the sensation of simply being close. A moment later he’s roused by Romana, urging him to sit up a bit before laying his head down on a pillow in her lap, and he’s treated to an upside-down view of her gazing fondly at him. He can't help a tentative smile in return.
His hearts flutter as she leans down to kiss his forehead—and then his attention is directed elsewhere entirely, because Brax has wasted no time picking up the pace once more and Romana is tracing the lines of his chest and ribs, the fingers of her other hand stroking through his hair and straying towards his temple. He spares enough of a glance to realize that Romana and Brax are now kissing, and that he really must ensure it happens earlier next time because that probably would have been enough to ensure no political discussion started up in the first place, before Brax delivers a particularly skillful thrust, and follows it up by grinding against him, hard and deep; his hips jerk involuntarily at the intense frisson of pleasure it causes and he shuts his eyes with a groan, surrendering to the feeling of being cradled securely between them as his conscious train of thought dissolves into a rather relaxing sort of static.
At some point (he’s not entirely sure when) Romana brings her telepathic skills to bear, waiting for his eager permission before establishing a limited link between their minds, not a sharing of thoughts or feelings but a simple manipulation of sensation. He feels her in his mindscape, senses her grin as she finds the pleasure centres of his brain and makes a few choice adjustments—hormone levels, nerve signals, magnifying his physical sensitivity and stimulating every erogenous zone she can until he’s gasping and trembling all over, his skin tingling as if subject to an electric current. Then Brax smooths his hand over his stomach, grasps his cock and begins stroking in time with his thrusts, leaning down and murmuring encouragement into his ear and humming his approval as Narvin moans and twitches and grips his arm harder. He’s vaguely aware of whimpering a string of curses, possibly interspersed with their names, before he comes with a shudder and a choked cry, muffled into Brax’s shoulder. Brax is pulled along with him just a moment later, a quiet groan and his almost-painful hold on Narvin’s hip the only hints that he has finally given up his immaculate self-control. Narvin expects it’s a concession, of sorts, to make up for the teasing. But it’s satisfying nonetheless.
He laughs as Brax lets himself collapse on top of him, squishing him to the bed. “Get off!” he gasps, attempting to free himself. “You’re a menace, you know that?”
Brax gives a little grumble and nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder, making no effort to move. Above him, Romana snickers and ruffles Brax’s hair, drawing from him a tiny contented noise.
“Better?” she asks. When Narvin looks up she’s arched an eyebrow at him, fondly amused.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, keenly aware that he’s blushing. “And give me a hand, he’s heavy.”
Huffing dramatically, Brax lifts his weight from Narvin and trails a series of lazy kisses down his throat before rolling to the side, where he lies with his hands clasped behind his head. Narvin decides that moving now would be a travesty; he goes so far as stretching the stiffness out of his legs before he relaxes into Romana’s lap, closing his eyes with a deeply contented sigh.
“See, Narvin?” Brax murmurs. “Nothing wrong with a bit of multitasking.”
“Sod off,” says Narvin, growing drowsy already.
“After I’ve been so kind to you?”
“You’ve been an arse,” he corrects. He waits a moment, then opens one eye. Brax is looking at him, his gaze soft, a smile evident not so much on his face as in his eyes. He likes that look, though he’d climb Mount Cadon before admitting it.
“It’s nice, you know,” Brax says quietly. “To see you loosen up.”
Narvin blinks, shocked into silence in a very pleasant way. A little smile quirks at the corners of his lips, and before he can think up an appropriate response he’s being tipped out of Romana’s lap, to his dismay, and halfway onto Brax, which isn't so bad. Romana puts the pillow back in its place and urges them to come lie down properly, wrangling the disheveled bedclothes over all three of them.
“Very nice,” she murmurs, and kisses them both before settling down.
Narvin supposes he should work. There’s a frankly atrocious amount of paperwork waiting on his desk, a number of agents he really must get back to about various matters, and he hasn’t dared to set it all aside since Leela departed a couple days ago, feeling just as restless as he always does when she’s in the field and he isn't. But it’s an incredible sensation to simply lay his head on a pillow and indulge his exhaustion—and he can hardly get up now, not when Brax is cuddling up to his back and Romana is tucking her head against his chest, both their arms around him, both their legs tangled with his. And it’s an even better sensation to be given permission to rest, given the chance to insist that all three of them stop talking work. Tucked safely between them, his mind for once blissfully quiet, he thinks that perhaps it can wait for tomorrow.
“Thank you,” he says suddenly, without thinking. He’s immediately struck with embarrassment. “For… er, you know…”
Chuckling, Brax presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re welcome, Narvin,” he whispers, and as always there’s the undertone of secrecy and trust, of I wouldn’t, couldn't say this to just anyone, and it’s all the more meaningful for it.
Romana draws back a bit, clearly surprised by what, for him, would count as an admission. “Of course,” she says quietly, her eyes wide and earnest—a promise, because she understands, perhaps better than anyone. “Always, Narvin.” Then she touches the tip of her nose to his, just to make him laugh, and smiles at the sound.
He kisses the top of her head as she settles back in, lays his hand over Brax’s on her waist, and wonders if Leela would help him get revenge.