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He knows he shouldn’t be here. It’s a mistake.

Maybe they won’t be home.

Maybe they’ll slam the door in his face.

Maybe they won’t give a shit.

There are so many things that could go wrong.

Maybe they’ll just ignore him.

Maybe the ground will open up and swallow him whole.

Maybe he’ll get struck dead by lightning before they answer the door.

But above all else he’s more worried about the fact that he might be alone for the rest of this terrible, terrible, no good, awful night. He’ll probably be alone for the rest of his life at this rate.

As if things weren't bad enough, it's pouring down rain. As if nature itself is trying to wash him down the drain. Down into the sewers where he belongs, “With the rest of the scum”, according to Devin. Honestly, he isn’t sure where he went wrong. He made the time, he’d read all the texts, taken all the calls, answered every beck and call. But it still hadn’t been enough. Why had he failed?

He feels lost. Really and truly lost. Isn’t sure which way is up anymore. There weren’t any clear answers, no clear solutions to the baffling mystery of just how much he’d colossally fucked up the one good thing going in his life.

Rain isn’t the greatest comfort. The way it pounds down on the body like it’s trying to get at your soul. Maybe to wash it clean, to erase all the mistakes, all the colossal fuck ups. Maybe rain was a good thing.

At least it hid his tears well.


It shouldn’t matter who answers, but for some reason it really does. Part of him is afraid that if Peter answers he’ll shut the door just to avoid dealing with “feelings and drama”. He’s never been one to doddle in post breakup conversations. In fact, most of his solutions involve rubbing dirt in places dirt should never be introduced. It's either that or ignoring the problem.

Over the years Rufio had learned that Peter is a really big fan of ignoring the problem until it goes away.

Between him and Felix, he usually lets the other boy do all the emotional talking. Which is ironic, seeing as Felix is the quietest person of their group by far. Felix is a bit more patient than Peter though, and his tolerance is higher. Then again, he puts up with Peter on a daily basis, so that isn’t terribly surprising.

After three knocks it’s unfortunately Peter that answers.

His head tilts, one eyebrow lifting with a quirk of the mouth, like he’s making some grand decision in his head. It’s like a thousand calculations run across his face in an instant, but there’s too much going on for Rufio to be able to tell if the other boy is in a good mood or not.

With a small smile—nothing more than the corner of his mouth curling upwards—he steps aside and ticks his head in the other direction toward the inside of the house. “Come in.”

Five steps in Rufio realizes his mistake. He shouldn’t have come to Peter and Felix with this. They won’t care, they don’t have time for him, they’ve got plans, thousands of excuses for why he shouldn’t be there course through his head too late.

Peter must sense his hesitation, cause he palms the back of Rufio’s right shoulder and pushes him forward. He steers him like this till they get to the couch, which is a straight shot from the doorway, where Felix is lounging. His long legs stretched out in front of him the book Doctor No cradled between the palm of his hand and his chest. His chin is tucked in, his gray eyes gliding over the lines of text within with practiced ease. He stops after a few moments—maybe when he comes to the end of a paragraph—and looks up just as Peter pushes Rufio onto the couch with the hand on his shoulder.

“Um…hi.” Is the only thing that comes out of Rufio’s mouth.

“Hi.” Felix says in retort, grey eyes lifting above Rufio’s head to meet Peter’s green ones.


Felix’s lap is soft and welcoming—he’s always wondered what it would be like to lay his head here. The cotton of them long worn down by weekend after weekend of hauling them up tower long legs. The waist of them a bit slouchy as a result of Peter’s not-quite-as-long-enough-limbs. This is a thoroughly worn out piece of clothing, and it smells something like a manufactured meadow mixed with some kind of flower scent. If he lets himself, Rufio knows he could fall asleep here. It’s really nice.

Long fingers are carded through his hair, moving in smooth strokes, commixed with small scratches as they reach the top of his scalp. The sobs have mostly subsided, but his shoulders still jerk every now and then from the stragglers left somewhere deep in his chest. Face tear stained and hot, he turns toward Felix’s knees, curling a hand in front of his face in some lame attempt to hide the ridiculous expression that must be on his face right now.

Somehow Felix’s quiet inquiry of “What’s wrong?” led to tears, incoherency, and now apparently, snuggling.

“What do you mean you aren’t good enough? According to who? Devin?” Peter sounds personally offended, as if Devin had insulted him by insulting Rufio’s character. He’s pacing back and forth in short strides in front of the couch, after Felix tucked in his legs to allow for a better pillow.

“What does that brat know?” He pauses for a moment, mid-step, pondering a better insult no doubt. As usual at times like this, when he can’t think of something adequate enough, he consults Felix, “What is it you’d call that croc wearing fascist the other day, Felix?”

“A shitbrat.”

“A shitbrat, yes, that’s perfect for Devin. When I see that little shitbrat I’ll cut off his nuts and staple them to his forehead.” Under normal circumstances Rufio might have taken a moment to be flattered that Peter would go to such lengths for him. He wasn’t aware that Peter…cared so much. Maybe he was just imagining things. Maybe he’s underestimated the group’s designated leader. Maybe he really did care about his own.

The only thing keeping Rufio lying down was Felix’s gentle hand, still stroking through his damp hair.

Felix was an odd boy. He didn’t seem to mind the fact that his lap was steadily becoming a tear stained, rain-hair dripped on, wet cotton mess. He just kept petting and petting, like nothing else in the world mattered. Like his happiness was dependent upon keeping up this motion. But back to the situation at hand: Peter’s pacing.

“That demented little jackass will be hearing from me. That’s for sure. Enjoy your ass while you can still use it, Devin. When I’m through with you, you won’t even be able to take a—“

“Peter.” Felix says, pointing with his free hand to a tissue box across the room.

“What?” Without missing a beat, Peter alters his pacing course, snatches the pale yellow box off the counter, and saunters back to Felix and the couch. Where he offers the box with an absent gesture. He tilts it downward for him, and the tall boy wordlessly plucks a tissue from the box. It’s an impressive exchange, entirely silent. Almost like they know what the other is thinking. “Now…where was I?”

“Ruining his ass,” Felix offers, using the tissue to wipe at the sniffling-boy-in-his-lap’s nose. “But I don’t think that’s helping much.”

Peter looks mildly confused for all of thirty seconds before he schools his expression back into a pleasantly amused one.

The air in the apartment changes then.

The two boys growing silent as they stare at one another. Like they have some sort of sixth sense. They can exchange thoughts without opening their mouths once. Rufio’s always found it odd, but today he’s sort of thankful. He hasn’t had to talk much since he’s arrived, and for once he couldn’t be more grateful. With his throat so tight from the tears he isn’t sure he could squeeze out a word even if he wanted to.

Then, suddenly, Peter is squatting in front of him, offering him a hand.

“Up.” Is all he says at first.

Here it is. The moment has come. They’re tired of him. They want him to leave. He’s getting kicked out.

But when he takes Peter’s hand and stands, he doesn’t push him toward the door like he did with the couch. Instead he pivots and pulls him toward the hallway, but stops short—leading the other boy forward with just his hand as his body stands still. “You need to get cleaned up.”

This isn’t what he expected. Peter offering him a chance to clean up? He isn’t usually so hospitable. But it’s his next sentence that really has Rufio dumbfounded. “Felix, be a dear and help him out, won’t you? Make sure he gets nice and clean.”

He smiles, all teeth, and full of a playful mirth Rufio has never seen before. His eyes are so bright they’re nearly gleaming a lustful emerald. What could he be plotting?

Peter’s fingers curl around his, touch nearly as gentle as Felix’s. Turning their joined hands upward, he lifts them up and presses his mouth firmly to the top of Rufio’s hand.

“Huh?” Perhaps, Rufio has stepped into an alternate universe--a Twilight Zone--where nothing makes sense. Peter can’t be flirting with him. Not like this. He can't be in their apartment getting pampered by the two of them. It just doesn't make sense.

Maybe it’s a joke.

Maybe he’s just teasing him.

Maybe now they’ll kick him out.

“Relax, baby boy. I won’t bite.” Peter grins against his skin, dropping his hand as quickly as he’d taken it, “Much.”

Rufio catches a flash of pink tongue as it slips out, curving around his lips as if he’s tasting something delicious. It makes Rufio’s stomach do a sommersault flip in a way he didn’t think was possible.


He feels light headed, confused, dumbfounded when Felix turns on the shower for him. His long fingers are prodding at the rain of water like he’s trying to test its consistency, but it isn’t a solid so Rufio can’t figure out what he’s trying to accomplish.

“It’ll be fine. I can figure out the temperature myself.”

Felix raises a thin brow at him, apparently confused by the concept of a person figuring out what temperature they liked their shower to be. So Rufio starts again, slower, just in case Felix remains confused, “I said that I can figure out my own—“

“I know. But I’m pretty picky about the water pressure. You can adjust the temperature any way you like after I’m done.” He says plainly, like it’s a matter of fact.

Rufio manages a laugh at this, finally finding amusement in something after a long day. “Um. Sorry? Why does that matter, it’s not like you’re going to be in there with me, right?”

Felix doesn’t laugh, but he does smile, and the expression is utterly mischievous. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

Now he’s starting to sound as confusing as Peter. Like they’re both…plotting something. “Haven’t I figured what out yet?”

Felix’s smile widens, and it’s honestly the most beautiful thing Rufio has seen to date. The thing is, Felix’s smile—his real, true, honest to God smile¬ is as rare as an eclipse. Which totally makes sense, cause usually the only one who can even accomplish the grand feat of making Felix smile is Peter.

Peter, whose about as glorious as the sun.

Peter, who takes on impossible tasks all the time.

Peter, who is very obviously playing a game with him right now.

Rufio grits his teeth. He knew all this was too good to be true. He just knew it, right down to his bones. Things like this don’t happen for him.

Things like Felix taking the time to comfort him, and Peter playing along with it…they just don’t happen for anyone other than Peter and Felix. It’s like they’re in their own little world, and every now and then you get a privileged  glimpse inside, but only a glimpse. Only enough to leave you longing for more—or better yet a world of your own with your own Felix. If Rufio believed in a thing like soulmates, he’d point to Peter and Felix as the token example. No one could pull you in and make you jealous like they could.

They made everything look so enticing with their banter, and their shared smiles. The private laughs they shared at everyone else’s expanse. What he would give up just to have a safe space like that.

If only…

If only he were better, smarter, good enough.

If only…was such a dangerous phrase, and he’d been using it a lot lately.

But back to the present.

Felix was aiming that real, true, beautiful smile at him. The kind that left his heart fluttering and his chest airless. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? 

All he can think to do is run.


Rufio makes it halfway out the front door before Peter catches him by the shoulder.

He can’t even escape fast enough. But before he can shout, or scream, or God forbid starting crying again, Peter curls a hand around the back of his neck. It’s sudden, it’s unexpected, and it kind of hurts when their mouths collide.

Peter’s aim is a bit off, his teeth bite into the flesh of Rufio’s bottom lip. The pain stings immediately, nearly overshadowed by the rush of air that blows out of his nose. The other hand slips its way around his waist, coming to rest on the small of his back, pushing him in, closer. It’s warm. Warmer than Rufio expected. He still can't figure out exactly why Peter is kissing him right now. 

The door closes behind him somehow. Even though Peter’s hands are full.

It must be Felix.

He can feel the taller boy hovering behind him, gently—ever gently—pushing them somewhere, steering the two bodies effortlessly.

Peter finally breaks away after what feels like an eternity. “Get it now?”

“Why?” Is all he manages to croak out.

“We want you to cheer up.” Felix says into his neck, lapping at the moisture that’s gathered there . The shiver takes over his whole body, he’s pressed in between their thin bodies, shaking slightly from all the sensations he’s feeling.

He feels Peter’s hands, warming his neck and scratching at the small of his back. He’s thicker than them—more muscle—so they’re left to slither around him while he stands stock still, stunned by the ministrations happening around him. Felix’s tongue lapping dangerously close to his ear, his breath hot as it tickles the shell of it. It’s all too much at once.

All he can do is moan, helpless, against the onslaught.

“Wait—“ He chokes out, squirming to get free from their joint hold.

Peter apparently, has no patience for waiting for Rufio to catch up, cause his hands shift till they got a good grip on the front of his shirt. He pulls the boy forward, Felix still pressed in close at the rear, and together they usher him into the bedroom.


By the time the bedroom door closes behind them, Rufio has decided he couldn’t give less than a fuck about why this is all happening. He just wants to enjoy it while it lasts—possibly forever.

Peter backs off, slipping off to the side as Felix’s spidery fingers fit over Rufio’s thick hips, spinning him around, and pressing him down into the mattress before he even has time to gasp out another word. Felix might be the king of removing clothes—he has Rufio’s floppy red hoodie up and over his head and tossed over his shoulder in a matter of moments. The graphic tee underneath it is disposed of just as quickly. Meanwhile, Peter somehow wriggles off his pants in between Felix nearly tearing off his top layers.

Rufio has honestly never been undressed so fast in his life. Their teamwork is impeccable. 

Peter appears up by his head miraculously, leaning down to fit their mouths together once again. This time, Rufio is ready, pressing his fingers through Peter’s thick curls, getting a good grip to hold him in place. Felix takes this moment to make himself known again by nuzzling the hard line of Rufio's still-trapped-beneath-cotton-cock.

All he can do is hum into Peter’s feverish kiss as the boy takes the chance to introduce tongue, lapping into his mouth with ease. It feels like a dream.

The way Peter kisses him like he’s lapping at the fountain of youth. Like this is a one-time opportunity, as if his pleasure was completely dependent on Rufio.

The way Felix presses a few hot, open mouthed kisses over the covered head of his cock. It all feels like a fantasy. A far off dream. A dream that he hasn't had in awhile.

The sounds the two of them pull from his mouth by mere teasing alone are the dirtiest form of lewd Rufio can imagine. He mewels, he purrs, he moans, longer than he ever thought possible.

After a few moments, he has to toss his head back, breaking the kiss, to whine out Felix’s name.

He can feel the tall boy’s grin, and somehow that--more than the kisses turns him on even more.

“It’s time, Felix. “ Peter huffs in the air above Rufio’s neck, dipping down moments later to nip at the bronze sun kissed skin.

Maybe he nods, maybe he even gives an affirmation out loud, but Rufio completely misses it cause in the next moment Felix’s mouth is closing around flesh, swallowing him down as if he’s done it a thousand times.

The sound he makes is nearly inhuman. Peter continues nipping at his neck as Rufio’s back arches, bending—nearly concave, and suddenly he forgets why he’s here. He forgets the crushing sadness of rejection and heavy weight of defeat, he forgets all of it and focuses on the sole sensation of tongues on his body.

He hones in on Felix, whose busy swallowing him down like it’s the best thing (after Peter, he imagines) he’s ever tasted. Rufio lifts his head barely, just as Peter straightens and slides backward off the bed to pull at his own clothes, and catches a glimpse of Felix’s wiry head bobbing up and down. The sight leaves him breathless, a groan bubbling up from his throat as his head plops back down onto the mattress.

It’s the sound of sex on the horizon. Of the fun starting.

Peter returns shortly, completely nude, and whispering sweet nothing’s into his beloved’s ear. Whatever he says must have been a great idea, cause Felix grins dirtily and scoots aside to shuck his clothes to the side as well. Rufio eases himself up on his elbows, during the small window that he isn't being fondled, so he can mutually watch the show with Peter—as inch by inch of skinny, pale, bony body is revealed.

“Beautiful…” Peter sighs absently, totally unaware of the thought spilling from his head.

Since he’s still not being affectionately assaulted, Rufio takes the chance to wiggle his underwear the rest of the way down his legs. By the time Felix is just as nude as they are Rufio has regained some modicum of control over himself, and scoots down and over the edge of the bed, so he can paw at Felix’s newly exposed chest.

The tall boy purrs, smile feline and wide as Peter appears to his left, reeling him in for a kiss of their own. You haven’t seen a kiss until you’ve witnessed Peter and Felix with their mouths pressed together. Their tongues constantly clash, rolling over each other in a smooth, soundless melody. Like a waltz so old and so subtle that only they know the steps.

It’s so hot that Rufio could easily get off on watching them kissing alone.

“Fuck.” He huffs dreamily, palming himself as their kiss deepens. If he has to he'll get off on just this. This is good enough. It's more than good enough for him.

Felix moans, opening his mouth impossibly wider. Peter breathes in the sound, dropping one hand to wrap around the boy’s length, while the other weaves into the wiry half curls springing out from his scalp in all different directions. Peter’s got him purring like a tom cat while he pumps him to full hardness, fingers gliding along the shaft with familiar ease.

Felix must remember that Rufio exists, cause he’s reaching for him after a while, fingers sliding up his thighs. He can’t be trying to jack him off while Peter is making out with him. That would be almost too much to handle.

Apparently, Felix is determined to multitask. Cause he doesn’t stop reaching for Rufio, nor does he stop purring and keening every time Peter moves against him, nor does Peter stop his ministrations. Finally, Felix gets ahold of him, and Rufio’s afraid for a few moments that his eyes might get stuck looking at the back of his skull forever.

He can’t keep on like this, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe Peter and Felix are trying to arouse him to death.


As it turns out, they have other plans for him. One of which, is questioning him about his feelings.

“Am I wrong?” Peter coos, breath fanning over Rufio’s spine as he strokes three fingers down the boy’s back.

“N-no. But…I wasn’t planning on acting on it.” It’s hard for Rufio to admit that his crush on Felix is utterly one sided, but he’s known from day one he could never compete with Peter, and he tells the boy so. "I'm not you. So...what's the point?"

The confession gets a chuckle, and Peter’s teeth in the shell of his ear. He yelps, and Peter chuckles again.

“Don’t worry, I understand. Felix is very desirable. I, of all people, know that better than anyone. Which is why I’m giving you this gift when you need it the most. Remember this, baby boy. Remember how I shared my dearest treasure—my other half--with you.” He pauses a moment to breathe directly into Rufio’s ear canal, seamlessly pulling a shudder from the boy, “Besides…no one calls one of my boys scum.”

Rufio blinks at the comforter, knees weak and forearms shaking. His palms are sweaty against the soft material, fingers fisting the fabric as Peter’s words skin in. “Huh?”

“It’s his convoluted way of saying,” Felix’s voice chimes in, somehow light in the face of such a confusing situation. “That we care about you, and that we want you to feel better.”

It’s a foreign concept, that Peter would ever be so over protective of anyone other than Felix. He's never seen the other boy so invested in someone that wasn't Felix. This behavior is a real mystery. One for the books.

But Peter's still at his ear and Rufio has to actively remember to keep breathing, vision suddenly blurry. Now really isn’t the time for tears, but he can’t help it. He’s never felt so…welcome. So in place, like he’s always belonged here.

Two long fingers curl under his chin, tilting his head up till his lips are pressing into Felix’s. He kisses him with the sort of determination a waterfall has as it tumbles over the edge. That's sort of what this kiss feels like. Like he's tumbling over the edge. Felix feels so strong and steady against his mouth, anchoring him in the here and now. Keeping him in this moment, this happy place, and for the first time in a long while, Rufio could feel happy thoughts bubbling up from the dark corners of his mind.

Peter’s hands stroke down his back, ever present, bracketing his spine all the way down to his tailbone. He’s never been one for mincing words, but Rufio appreciates his comfort in whatever form he chooses to give it.

First, Peter kisses the end of his spine, teeth poking out to rake over the bone there. Rufio mewels into Felix's mouth.

Second, he becomes consumed in the way Felix traces the inside of his mouth in curious prods of tongue. His limbs feel like they'll turn to jelly.

Third, he becomes acutely aware of the wet feel of Peter’s tongue pressing inside him. “F-fuck, Peter.”

Peter’s tongue swirls on the inside, twisting and turning, as if he's searching for something--relishing in how the heat within only grows. With one more confident thrust of tongue, he tilts his head back, and laps at the tight ring of muscle before answering, “Yes, Rufus?”

His only answer is a series of high pitched pants.

“I think you took him by surprise.” Felix adds, taking in the sight of Rufio's shaking limbs, and reaching to pinch one of the boy’s nipples. It pulls another surprised noise from his lips.

“I think you’re right.” Peter says, using his fingers to spread the boy’s cheeks wide. “You want me to stop?”

Felix leans down to tend to the other nipple with his mouth and Rufio thinks he might go insane.

They’ve only just started and Rufio feels like he’s fighting to keep the oxygen in his lungs, his head hangs heavy, panting as his stomach billows and flattens. He feels like a balloon constantly being emptied and refilled.

Felix presses a kiss to the top of one pink nub, before taking it between his teeth. His fingers rolling the other rapidly hardening pink mound, murmuring something like, “Take your time.” against his skin.

Somehow, Rufio finds it in himself to reach up, for something--anything to keep him grounded. If this were a fairy tale, this might be the moment where he floated up and touched the ceiling out of pure unbridled joy. Felix takes his hand, brings it toward his face and kisses his fingertips, at the same moment Peter’s tongue presses in again. Quickly followed by the blunt press of a cold finger.


“You make such pretty sounds.” Peter says, pulling out and pressing in with another lick, “Maybe we should just keep you like this.” In and out, another finger, another lick. “All wound up and tight.” Another lick, with two fingers pressing in deep. “So you’ll keep making those sweet little noises.” Rufio thinks he’ll go insane if Peter continues at this pace.

They've got him bent in an awkward position, his lower half bent down, his upper half struggling to stay upright.

“M-more .“

"More? What an eager boy." Peter says, pulling his fingers out before thrusting them in again vigorously. Felix busies himself by teasing the boy's nipples with flat presses of tongue and hints of teeth. Keeping him on edge and gasping. When that nipple becomes swollen and red he switches to the other, giving it the same playful treatment.

His eyes are watering again, and this time he's having trouble keeping the droplets at bay. One slips down his cheek, just as he cries out again. A cool thumb brushes against his cheek, wiping away the stray tear. 

Rufio blinks his eyes open, as Peter continues his relentless in-and-out-while-licking rhythm. Felix is looking up at him, peering through his lashes as he keeps lapping at his chest. Rufio takes the chance to soothe him, by petting his head. "It feels so good. I can't--I can't help it." 

Suddenly, the licking stops. “That’s your cue, Felix.”


Unbeknownst to Rufio, Felix has been harboring a deep and secret need to fuck him senseless. He isn’t sure how and when this need started but, he’s definitely grateful the need exists.

Felix has settled in behind him on his knees. Rufio can’t stand to keep himself fully upright any longer, so his face is pressed down, his hips held upright by one of Felix’s hands. “Ready?”

“I’m not gonna get much harder than this. So yeah.” He hisses, wiggling his hips in anticipation. Peter cackles somewhere in the background, resigning himself to the peanut gallery.

“Cheeky. And I took the time to slick you up so nicely, too.” Felix pouts, something Rufio has never heard before.

“You did. And it was such a gorgeous sight. Him on his knees is a lovely sight too,” Peter calls from over Felix’s shoulder, “But he'll look much better with your cock in him.”

With that command, Felix pushes forward, pushing and pushing as Rufio feels the world turn on its head. Could he really have been waiting for Peter's permission? Is that why he'd taken his time?

Rufio tries to remember to relax, though the thought is lost somewhere in his awe of the sheer length of Felix. It feels as if he goes on forever, his body stretching to accommodate the boy’s long shaft. He groans, long and loudly, completely unbothered by the fact that he was being watched.

Felix thrusts in the rest of the way, the tight squeeze of the body around him too much for him to control himself. Rufio’s skin has a nice sheen underneath the bright lights of their bedroom, the bronze a lovely compliment to the darkness of their comforter. He looks so pretty with his head pressed down and his ass up. Felix breathes out a curse, head tilting back as Rufio’s body adjusts.

The pressure inside him feels so insanely good. It’s hot and makes his body stretch in the most pleasant way, the lube slicking his muscles has finally warmed. It allows Felix to move with minimum effort, practically gliding in as he finally nails him with the first thrust.

Now Felix waits, as patiently as a saint, with fingers splayed wide over the other boy’s hips.

“Tell me when,” He exhales.

It takes a few moments for him to catch his breath, but finally, Rufio manages a laugh and, “When.”

Felix is not one to rush things. He likes to take his time, to create build up. He’s got patience; a plan of attack; a strategy. And it shows in the way he fucks. He starts slow, pulling out inch by inch, and pressing forward the same way. As he gets comfortable, the body around him warmer and looser, he builds up speed till he's thrusting hard enough to create a symphony of skin slapping skin, hips colliding, boys crying out.

Between Rufio’s moans and his own groans, they have a two man orchestra.

As they go on, Felix’s thrusts gain enough traction that Rufio feels himself being bounced forward. It's a dizzying thought, the idea that he's bouncing on Felix's cock at the moment. And Peter seems to have disappeared—at least that’s what he thinks until he feels Felix stutter to a stop as the bed dips.

Before he can even whine at the loss of movement, Felix is soothing him with a hand on his shoulder. Rufio tilts his head to the side to get a better look at the scene behind him, and watches with hungry dark eyes as Peter plunder’s Felix’s mouth with his tongue.

“Done watching?” Felix gasps in between kisses.

“You two looked so delicious I couldn’t help myself.” Peter answers with a grin, one hand drifting to Felix’s hip as the other wraps about his own shaft.

The realization sinks in that Peter’s about to do something that Rufio has only dreamed of. He’s about to fuck Felix while Felix fucks him. God. How did he get so lucky?

“Wait.” Rufio says, just as Peter starts pressing into Felix, who quirks an eyebrow.

Peter sounds extremely annoyed and petulant when he asks, “Why should I?”

The tone makes Rufio feel embarrassed, a blush blooming over his cheeks, as the two other boys stare at him expectantly. “I…uh…I wanna be on my back. So…so I can watch.”

Peter looks a tad surprised, like he hadn’t been expecting that. “You want to watch me fuck Felix, while he fucks you?”

Rufio manages a shy nod. Felix looks about as happy as the Cheshire Cat.

Peter blinks at him once, twice, three times, before his lips curl up in a wickedly mischievous smile. “You naughty, naughty, boy. I might just have to reward you for that later. Felix, remind me to reward him later.”

"Yes, sir." Felix chirps as he pulls out so Rufio can reposition.


It takes only seconds for them to resettle with Rufio on his back, legs splayed wide and open. Felix is settled comfortably between the boy’s legs, and Peter purring happily on his knees behind the taller boy.

“I should’ve set up a camcorder.” Peter sighs as Felix slips his hands under Rufio’s thighs, pulling him up so he can press in again. This time it’s an easy thrust, and has both boys moaning.

“I should’ve fucked up things with Devin sooner.” Rufio keens, just as Felix looms over him, sweeping a kiss over his lips. Which turns into a series of playful nips.

Felix hums in agreement, though with who is a total mystery.

Peter translates, “Felix is just happy to be here apparently.”

This warrants the taller boy to straighten and kiss Peter over his shoulder, which leads to a beautiful make out session, to which Rufio has a front row seat.

He reaches down to take himself in hand as he watches them get consumed in each other, eyes glued to the magnificent boys before him. They look so perfect together, as if they were made for each other. Like they were originally one being separated into two. It was nearly other worldly. He gets two strokes out before Felix remembers him and thrusts forward. It still doesn’t feel as if he’s supposed to be a part of this.

And normally Rufio doesn’t take handouts, he doesn’t like pity. But this time it doesn’t feel like that.

It feels like these two boys are trying to help him, like they care, like they want him to belong. And maybe he does. Maybe this is where he should’ve been from the beginning. With these two beautiful, magnificent, wonderful boys.

After that it’s impossible to keep quiet. He forgets about himself, about his own pleasure and tries to focus on the two boys there with him. He watches as Felix lifts him by the hips effortlessly, pounding into him as Peter remains solid behind him. Felix must be bouncing back and forth between the two of them, impaling himself on Peter as he buries himself in Rufio’s heat. The sensation must be inexplicably good, cause all he can do is moan over and over again. He can't even maintain a kiss without breaking off to cry out.

Peter makes some unholy sound of pleasure, one that can surely only be derived from committing the dirtiest of sins, and to that noise, Rufio pushes himself forward. It creates unexpected angle of friction that has Felix keening, and he must’ve squeezed Peter out of reflex because he’s making that unholy noise again.

This is perfect. They've gained momentum together. Its so sickeningly good. Somewhere along the way, as the heat within him builds, Rufio starts babbling, “Don’t stop, don’t—ah—don’t stop.

And it’s Peter that answers as Felix lolls his head back on his shoulder, “Don’t you worry. We’d...never dream of doing that.”

Rufio’s vision blurs, the world turning from sharp lines to vague shapes of color as the heat inside him keeps building. It builds, and builds, and builds. He’s too hot, he can’t take anymore, its only getting hotter and hotter. He’s completely lost sight of Felix, but he’s pounding so hard into him that his body is getting rubbed raw against the comforter. He hears Peter’s hips slapping against the curve of Felix’s ass as he moves just as fiercely as the tall boy, pace ferocious as it all comes crashing to an end.

Rufio knows he’s the first to lose it.

He cries out so loudly that it hurts his throat. The sound must be deafening. Muscles taunt, fists clenched, he loses sight as the world briefly flashes white as the force of completion hits him.

Felix is next, pulled over the edge by the way Rufio’s body nearly suffocates him. Peter guides him through it, pounding him all the way through the afterglow until he’s too sensitive to take anymore. His lover collapses on top of Rufio, likely smearing white all over his stomach. That thought alone almost gets Peter off.

But then, by total surprise, Rufio’s small but eager hand reaches up, pawing at Peter’s thigh. At first, he’s so blinded by pleasure that he doesn’t understand what the boy wants. Felix gets it before he does, lazily rolling off him so the other boy can slowly ease himself up into a sitting position. With a hand on Peter’s chest, he presses till the other boy awkwardly shuffles backward. It takes a few moments, but Rufio gets him into position, standing just off the edge of the bed.

“…what’re you planning, Rufus?” Peter asks, just as he catches the gleam of hunger in the dark haired boy’s hazel eyes. His lips are kiss swollen and eager as they close around the blunt head of Peter’s cock, and suddenly, he’s speechless. It's beautiful. And stunning. Rufio has never been stunning before. The boy swallows and Peter nearly comes right then, crying out, “Fuck …me. Someone is a—ah—awfully eager.”

Rufio doesn’t waste a second answering him, he swallows, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks. He hasn’t done this in awhile, sucked someone down like this—he could be totally fucking it up. But based on the way Peter’s fingers are laced so tightly in his hair he must be doing something right. He's holding on like he doesn't want it to stop. Pride swells in the pit of his stomach, a small wave of happiness fluttering over him. This thought gives him confidence. Perhaps a bit too much.

He hadn’t accounted for Peter’s reaction. The other boy bucks and hits the back of his throat, causing Rufio to gag around him. He has to back off, lest he wants to choke to death, replacing mouth with fingers. Since his eyes are watering, and his throat is already pulsing with soreness, he lets his hand continue pumping at a rapid pace.

He coughs over Peter whispering something over him. Whatever he was supposed to hear, he doesn't.

And the next thing he knows he’s got come splattered all over his face.

“Rufus,” Peter pants, chuckling tiredly, “I knew…from the moment Felix suggested this, that you would look good…with my come on your face.”

Despite the lingering tingles of afterglow Rufio frowns. “Not even a warning? Really?”

“Well I tried. S’ not my fault you weren’t listening.” He sounds even more smug than usual, though his voice is slightly hoarse, stretched out from fucking.

Just as he raises his hand to wipe the rapidly cooling liquid away, he feels Felix grab his wrist. “Let me.” Somehow Felix maintains his deep monotone, despite the colorful array of noises he’d just made.

It’s an odd request, but Rufio shrugs and tries to hold still as Felix’s tongue works its way up and over his cheek, nose, chin, and forehead. Apparently not a drop of Peter’s come was to be wasted. Still, he doesn’t think he’ll get used to the notion of Felix licking his face clean like he’s one of his kittens or something.

“Hey you two, simmer down will you? The night is still young. We’ve got plenty of time for that later.” It’s the first time Rufio has ever heard Peter out of breath, and quite frankly, he could really get used to it.