Tarrant hasn't been fucked like this before.
Not that he would say as much, and he does not act the blushing virgin; indeed he pushes himself toward Blake with an eagerness that Avon has learned to recognise as a sign that he needs them to believe he knows what he's doing, regardless of whether he actually does.
So he tries to act casual when Blake slides his trousers over his hips, but the bulge that catches on his waistband and slaps against his underbelly is more than Tarrant’s ever seen before, more than he could have imagined . Avon did warn him. By the look in Tarrant’s eyes, he can tell the boy didn’t listen. That's what he gets for demanding anything he thinks is on offer, Avon tells himself, fighting some vague protective instinct as Tarrant's hands stroke nervously above, not along, Blake's cock.
Avon feels bitterly empty. He has imagined what it would be like when he and Blake found each other again many times, but he never imagined someone else putting themself between them. It is just like Tarrant, however, to insist on being the centre of attention. A part of him wants to stop it and pull Tarrant off Blake, or pull Blake off Tarrant as the case so happens to be, when he suddenly has his lips locked with Tarrant’s and his tongue in the boy’s mouth. Avo n’s not entirely sure which way he’s thinking about it now, but then hands are roaming backwards towards his own thighs and he realises he’s still wanted, needed despite feeling rather abruptly like the third wheel. Blake's strong fingers grip the same as they always did, certainty crossing into arrogance more often than not. Avon knows he will have finger-shaped smudges across his pale skin, bruises he always used to complain about Blake leaving and secretly relish in private.
They are all pressed tight together now, Tarrant almost snapping his long neck in two to keep his lips pressed against Avon's own. He is laughing into Avon's mouth, smug for as little reason as ever. Avon swipes his nails briskly over the curve of Tarrant's arse. He can't help himself.
“Easy, Avon,” Blake comments with wry good humour that belies the evidence of hard living on his face. “Anyone would think you were jealous.”
Avon pulls away then, only long enough to growl before he’s back at Tarrant’s lips, biting, teeth claiming that mouth for his own, making sure they both know Tarrant is his . It’s petty, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to be bothered by it, especially not when a hand is wrapping around his cock, distracting him, pumping him up until he’s aching. He doesn’t really care whose it is.
Tarrant moans, his lips swollen beneath Avon’s onslaught, managing to escape with a breathless chuckle. “Him, jealous?” he teases. “You have to have feelings to be jealous, right Avon?” Tarrant is baiting him, clearly, and so he cannot be surprised when Avon grabs beneath his throat and bites his bottom lip hard enough to turn it purple.
Tarrant hisses, and when Avon’s teeth release him he runs a tongue over his lip and finds it bloodied, the tang of iron sharp in his mouth. Avon stares back, not quite smiling, but he can tell the man enjoyed that. He almost reciprocates, ready to surge forward and bite at Avon’s neck, mottle his skin until it’s stinging and bruised with bloodied kisses, but he’s caught up short by the feeling of one thick, blunt finger sliding between his cheeks. Tarrant freezes.
Blake reaches cautiously between Tarrant’s legs, but his eyes, dark and unreadable, are on Avon.
“I want to fuck your pilot, Avon,” he says, deep voice echoing against the hollow walls. “Will you let me?”
Tarrant makes a wordless noise of protest, no doubt incensed that he is not the one being posed that question. Avon tightens his grip on Tarrant’s throat, possessive fury filling his veins. Can he let Blake fuck Tarrant? They have come so far; it seems stupid to say no now. But he still thinks of Tarrant as his, as much as Tarrant would deny it if he were to say so aloud, and Avon does not want to share him. He does want Blake though. What does he have to give to get him?
Avon almost laughs at himself. He wants to have them both, and not have to share either. An absurd proposition. Irrational enough to make either of them proud.
“Well, now,” he grins, teeth bared and his thumb stroking Tarrant’s throat possessively. “I don’t make a habit of lending my toys when there’s the risk they could come back… broken,” he drawls, and his eyes drop down to take in the sight of Blake’s cock, thick and red, jutting up stiff between his legs. The way Tarrant is sitting, it nudges against his lean thigh, and although Blake’s stilled himself under Avon’s scrutiny, the other man knows he’s been rubbing against Tarrant’s thigh. The slick, wet trail along his skin just above Blake’s cockhead gives it away. Once again, Avon feels jealousy bubble inside him at the thought that Blake had even dared such an indulgence. He forces it back down, fingers tightening just that little bit more around Tarrant’s throat.
“Do you think you can fuck him without ruining him?”
Blake raises an eyebrow. “If nothing else, I seem less likely to strangle him than you,” Blake comments, and Avon’s wits return enough to realise he doesn’t want Tarrant to pass out before Blake gets the chance to fuck him or otherwise. He lets go, and Tarrant gasps sharply, but he keeps the boy pulled tight against his chest regardless.
Of course, he should have realised such a conversation would antagonise Tarrant’s stubborn pride.
“You underestimate me, Avon,” he says, trying to sound breezy despite his voice being as hoarse as Avon has ever heard it. “I’m sure, if you could handle Blake’s cock, it’s not as intimidating as it looks.” He grins, pearly white teeth shining. “But I’ll be sure to tell you how it feels, every moment, just in case something goes wrong.”
At that, Avon’s barely-bemused grin drops and he pushes Tarrant from his chest. He knows it’s all talk, words picked precisely to irritate him, strike a nerve, turn their meaningless sex into something antagonistic - something Avon knows could well spill over into their real life if he lets Tarrant keep pushing him the way he is. Tarrant doesn’t know Blake, not more than any other Federation citizen does the infamous rebel, but the boy isn’t a fool and he does know Avon. Too well , it seems, to have twisted this all against him so quickly, and Avon knows he’s enjoying it; Tarrant has always enjoyed being the bully. Digging, twisting the knife, watching Avon squirm.
“Of course you will,” he sneers at Tarrant and forces him closer into Blake’s lap. “You can’t keep that mouth of yours shut.” Blake’s hands wrap around Tarrant’s hips, pulling him closer, accepting. “I might have to fill it for you. That will keep you quiet.”
A visible shudder runs through Tarrant’s body, weight settling heavy on Blake’s chest. Blake holds him tight and tucks his head over his shoulder, watching Avon with an expression that Avon cannot tell whether is amused or concerned.
“Easy boy,” Blake murmurs beneath Tarrant’s ear, eyes still on Avon. “You have heard the expression about biting off more than you can chew?”
Tarrant laughs. “I’ve been told it’s most of my diet.”
Avon smirks at that, a little twist of his head telling Blake that their game is sitting on a knife-edge.
“Ah well, you heard him, Blake,” Avon shrugs.
“I heard him loud and clear, Avon,” Blake says, voice laced with something unspoken.
Blake moves, permission given. While Tarrant is manoeuvred across the bed, pushed to crouch on all fours, Avon does his duty, producing a small bottle with only the briefest hesitation (insulted as he is, he couldn’t see Tarrant fucked unprepared, and he doubts Blake would do it even if pressed). With Blake behind him and his head curled downwards, focused on the hands spreading him, Tarrant doesn’t even notice Avon moving into place mere inches from his face.
Avon is taken by surprise a little though, as Blake’s thick fingers stroke Tarrant’s hole (that Avon knows from experience to be infuriatingly tight and inviting), but while he does that, he presses a soft kiss to Tarrant’s bony shoulder. And then another. Blake slowly trails kisses down Tarrant’s spine, until he is poised with his mouth just above the cleft of Tarrant’s buttocks, and Tarrant gasps, no longer looking so smug. “What are you--?”
Avon sees an opportunity and takes it. His cock slides between Tarrant’s lips with a satisfying noise, and Tarrant’s baby blue eyes dart toward him instantaneously, more startled by that than what Blake’s doing. Within seconds though, he slips into old habits, eyelids fluttering shut and slowly starting to bob his head back and forth. Avon doesn’t really have to tell him anymore. He knows.
Avon’s actions throw Blake off, and what he’s been working Tarrant up for suddenly seems like too intimate a move to make on someone he’s barely even spoken to in the past few weeks since they reached Gauda Prime. Instead, while Tarrant sucks Avon, Blake wedges another thick finger into Tarrant’s hole, finding it relaxing easily while he’s distracted. He presses, scissoring, opening him up for a third, and Tarrant only begins to grunt, stretching too far when Blake dares to ease the tip of his pinkie in with the rest. He wonders with not a little bit of shock at what kind of games Avon had been playing with the boy to find his tight hole so accommodating so easily. Backing off, he returns to three fingers, shoves them as deep as he can, and then pulls out slowly. His hand drifts then, around Tarrant’s bony hip, and at the touch of Blake’s slick fingers enclosing around his straining cock, Tarrant begins to thrust.
Avon keeps his hands tightly wound in Tarrant’s hair, guiding him down further onto his cock, watching Blake’s curls bounce above the curve of Tarrant’s rear, thick lips panting slightly.
“Use your mouth on him, Blake,” Avon comments without strong emotion. “You know you want to.” Avon remembers the times past when Blake would eat him out for hours, until he screamed and begged him to stop. The thought fills him not with the jealous fury he felt before, but with an odd sort of melancholy.
Blake’s stomach flips at the memory, and he’s not a little embarrassed to be called out so casually by Avon, exposed like that in front of someone who is little more than a stranger to him. But his mouth is watering, unintentionally, and he swallows hard. He doesn’t look back up at Avon then - can’t even bring himself to. Instead he focuses his attention on Tarrant, spreading his pert cheeks with his free hand and leaning forwards, eager despite his misgivings. When he starts to run his tongue in a slow circle around Tarrant’s stretched hole, the body beneath him stiffens, as does the lengthy cock in his hand, and he realises this is the first time Tarrant has ever been eaten out. Somewhere above them, he can hear Avon chuckle deeply, and Blake bristles with the sense that he’s being used. But that doesn’t stop him now he’s started on Tarrant. Hell, he thinks while tonguing at Tarrant’s entrance and making him shake , that just means he’ll have to make sure Tarrant’s first time is unforgettable. If Avon won’t treat the boy right, Blake sure as hell will.
Tarrant is all but whimpering now, Avon’s cock in his mouth thankfully keeping the sound mostly inaudible. He would hate to have this virtual stranger with his tongue in his arse think he’s vulnerable. Avon is still annoyed with him, yes, but he also has some sympathy, remembering just how overwhelming Blake can be. That, or it’s easy to be generous with Tarrant’s tongue lapping up fluid from the slit of his cock like that. Avon indulges him, letting out quiet moans, rocking his hips gently toward Tarrant’s mouth. Tarrant, he’s learned, is much more bearable when paid a compliment or two.
But as Avon rocks himself deeper into Tarrant’s mouth, Tarrant finds it increasingly hard to suppress his gag reflex, and Avon’s tip pushes just a little too far until he feels the throat around him trying desperately not to convulse. The sensation is enough to drive Avon close enough to the edge that he worries this will be over too soon, but then Blake’s earlier words are ringing in his ears and he pulls back before he chokes Tarrant properly.
With Avon’s cock resting on his tongue, Tarrant can suck again, no longer in danger of gagging and throwing both men off of him in his panic. He likes sucking Avon, and it shows in the way he laps and tongues at Avon’s slit, drawing up the first drops of cum and sucking them down greedily, but when Avon goes too far… A wave of shame steals at his heart and he tries to squash it down, focusing on the cock stretching his lips and the tongue probing deep into his sensitive hole, dragging him so close to his own release. But all the teasing and veiled insults of the past few minutes gather in his mind and his previous bravado ebbs away. Suddenly, he’s questioning if he really wants this, but he knows it’s far far too late to back out now.
Blake is relieved, vaguely, when he hears Tarrant start to gag and Avon immediately pulls back. Avon has not changed so much after all; there are still some lines he won’t cross, whether or not he will admit it. Tarrant’s long cock drips in his hand, and Blake strokes him quickly, relishing the shivers and groans his actions prompt. His other hand is wrapped around his own length, moving fast enough to make this bearable, slow enough he won’t risk pushing himself over the edge too soon. He does enjoy this, seeing others fall apart on his tongue, his fingers, his cock, breaking through whatever walls they have built around themselves. He always loved fucking Avon for that reason. Tarrant is unlike Avon in many ways - from what Blake can tell anyway - but Blake gets the impression neither of them is very honest, with themselves or with each other.
With vague reluctance, Blake pulls his head up from Tarrant’s pink, wet hole, taking a deep breath.
“Are you ready?” he asks, hoping to sound as casual as possible, so the boy won’t be spooked.
Muffled, with a mouth full of cock and head wedged against Avon’s crotch, Tarrant feels rather stupid when he tries to say yes and his reply comes out as little more than a vibration against Avon’s cock. He can feel Avon trying to hold back a bark of laughter, probably derisive, he thinks, and pulls off.
“ Yes ,” his reply is short and hoarse, and he knows he sounds desperate but he can’t control that now, so close and trying to hold himself back. Blake’s hand squeezing him gently in acknowledgement doesn’t help. He stiffens unconsciously when Blake shifts up and slides his cock between his cheeks, poised and ready. The thickness resting on the edge of his hole is larger than he imagined, and he’s not entirely convinced he is ready, but he nods anyway. “ Do it. ”
Blake bites his lip. Tarrant plays the pretty, eager slut well, there’s no doubt about it, but that last gasp sounded just a note too sharp. His cock is swollen and aching; he wants to fuck this boy, yes, but his conscience tells him he shouldn’t.
But then he catches Avon’s eye across Tarrant’s prone body. Neither of them would forgive him if he put a stop to things now, called them out on this game they’re playing, with him and with each other, that is clearly making losers of the lot of them. Maybe he should do it anyway, but he can’t bring himself to, not when he has just found Avon again after so long. He’s a revolutionary, not a saint.
He pushes his cock through the tight rim of Tarrant’s entrance and for a second the pleasure that washes over him is so strong and so pure, it washes all his misgivings away, far more effectively than any Federation mindwipe ever could.
Then Tarrant whimpers, and that brings him back to reality.
“Easy, easy,” he says, quickening his pace as he strokes Tarrant’s cock, helping him through the first flush of pain as best he can. “It’s alright, I’ll go slow. Just try to relax.”
The first inch is always the worst, as Tarrant knows well, but the deeper Blake pushes, the harder it gets to take him, and he feels like he’s going to split if Blake keeps going. There is no relief, not like there is with the elegant, tapered head of Avon’s cock - Blake is thick, and as the man behind him slides his cock in and out of his ring, the pain only becomes agony. He knows he’s shaking now, trembling like a leaf, but he can’t stop. Lurching forward, he swallows Avon’s cock, letting the stiff flesh glide right down his throat, trying desperately to relax and get it as deep into him as he can. Anything, he thinks as he nearly bites Avon out of reflex, to distract him now. Until he can take it. He just needs a little more time. He can do it. He has to.
I have to stop, thinks Blake, as he feels Tarrant’s tremors of pain underneath him, erection in his hand faltering under the onslaught. Avon’s right, I’m going to ruin him. But his body doesn’t seem to want to listen to him, too high strung and long-denied to turn back after having tasted this pleasure.
“Avon,” he gasps, half-condemnation, half-plea - he’s sure he would not be in this situation if not for the other man, but he’s also sure Avon is the only one who can solve this impasse.
Avon is frozen. Earlier, he felt shamed by Blake’s gentleness, but said gentleness doesn’t seem to have done Tarrant much good. And it’s hard to focus on anything with Tarrant’s throat gurgling around his cock like that. Still, he does his best. Softly he tucks his fingers beneath Tarrant’s jaw, tilting his head up until teary blue eyes meet his own.
He’s not surprised to see the tears in Tarrant’s eyes running down his stained cheeks; he’s seen it before. Tarrant’s never known his limits, and Avon has pushed him in the past, fucked him too hard, let the boy choke on him to prove a point, meaningless as it might be. This…
This has gone too far. Avon backs away and his cock slides from Tarrant’s loose lips, a string of saliva trailing after it as he drops free. Tarrant’s mouth stays open once it’s gone.
“Enough, Blake. Get out of him.”
Blake stops dead. With sickening self-disgust, he realises he cannot control himself on his own, but one word from Avon is enough to tame him. Slowly he pushes himself back, gasping at how Tarrant’s tight hole seems to cling to him, head sliding out with a final pop .
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, aimed more at his own chin than the person he should be apologising to.
Tarrant all but collapses the second Blake lets go of him. He is shaking and sore, yes, but more than that, he is mortified . He would rather the pain than have them think they need to take pity on him. Especially Avon.
“No, I’m fine,” he insists, despite all evidence to the contrary. “I just need to--”
Avon knows it’s a lie, and he’s sick of hearing it now. What started as pity morphs into anger and makes him short and sharp. Reaching down, he pushes Tarrant until he rolls onto his back and Avon tries not to react to the gasp of pain the boy lets loose when his arse is pressed into the bed. Avon takes his limp cock in hand and works at the flesh until it grows rigid in his palm again, and when he knows he can, he crawls down on his hands and knees and sucks Tarrant efficiently until he’s gasping and cumming into his mouth. Avon barely gives him a moment’s grace before he swallows and pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of one shaking hand. He totally ignores Blake at the other end of the bed.
Blake watches them, arousal, guilt and despair circling one another in his gut. He’d been jealous when he first met Tarrant - he had spent two years wondering what happened to Avon, if they would ever see each other again, if he had already been replaced, only to discover the answer to the last one: ‘yes, more or less’. But he made his peace with it, because he wanted Avon that badly. He thought he could simply add Tarrant to their lovemaking - or whatever appropriately unsentimental term Avon insists on using for it - and that would change nothing, or if it did change something, it would be a change for the better.
He was wrong. And this surprises you? says Avon’s voice in his head, despite the man himself being maybe a foot away.
When Avon gets up off the bed, Blake is disappointed to find the arousal Tarrant had given him is all but gone, but he can’t say he’s surprised. As soon as he’d realised what was happening, Blake knew better than to expect reciprocation, and his own erection had withered at sight of Avon sucking off his poor, sorry boy. He knows he should get up now, leave, and pretend this never happened. It’s only when he hears Tarrant biting back a sob that he lifts himself from the bed and stoops to gather his clothes.
“Well Blake?” Avon’s voice interrupts his self-pity. “Did you enjoy playing with my toy?”
There’s no good answer to that, but he’s saved from giving one by Tarrant’s sobs suddenly transforming into a scoff.
“You can’t blame him, Avon,” he says. “Was he the one I crashed Scorpio into the ground for?”
Dragging up that memory smarts, and Avon stiffens at the very mention of it, his eyes turning to steel. Suddenly, he’s in a room with two enemies, and if he doesn’t leave now, he knows he’ll be lashing out blindly at both of them.
They’re too different, come from two different worlds, Avon realises with a bitter taste in his mouth. And he’d been the fool who wanted to have them both. No. Blake and Tarrant might look the same, might even share some of the traits that drew Avon to them initially, but bringing them together was like holding two of the same magnets together and trying to make them stick.
He should have known better.
Avon doesn’t meet either of their eyes while he pulls on his clothes hastily, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything more.
Blake can tell when Avon is about to walk out on him, perhaps for good this time, and despite thinking rationally it might be for the best, he can’t help the flood of terror that fills his veins at the thought, so he throws out one last desperate Hail Mary.
“I love you, Avon.” Blake chances a glimpse at Tarrant, no longer crying, just lying passed out on the bed. “So does he.”
He can’t say he’s surprised when Avon sneers cruelly at him.
“That’s your problem, not mine.”