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"Feel stupid," Izzy mutters. The sweat on his forehead and the scruffy way his hair is sticking to it makes him look a bit like a disgruntled kitten whose mother's been distracted by a noise halfway through bathtime.
"Shush," Fang tells him, pleasant but with a carefully calculated steely hint of a threat lurking just under the surface, "or I'll bring this to work and replace your spinny desk chair."
Lucius, curled lazily next to him on the sofa, lifts his mouth off Fang's cock with an obscenely wet sound just long enough to say, "If you feel stupid you're obviously not doing it right," before Fang takes a fistful of his hair and guides him back down.
"You can behave yourself as well," he chides gently, and feels the motion of Lucius smirking around him before he starts sucking again. "So many disobedient boys in this town."
"Hey," Pete objects from his place on the floor, Fang's leather boot tucked firmly between his thighs for him to ride. He sounds wounded. "Not me, right?"
"Not you," Fang agrees, and the pleased little grin that spreads on Pete's face is as bright as sunshine. "But who told you to stop?"
Hastily he starts moving again, dragging his hard cock over Fang's boot. They'll squabble later over who gets to polish them back to perfection—at least Pete and Izzy will, because Lucius is very adamant that he's not about to spoil his excellent sex life by suddenly involving chores in it—and Fang thinks maybe he'll make them both do it, one boot each, both of his boys on their knees for him at once. It's a pretty thought.
Settled again, Lucius bobbing his head enthusiastically in Fang's lap and Pete slowly rocking against his boot, Fang can turn his attention back to Izzy. He's gripping the pommel of the saddle, tension in every one of his stiff limbs at the unfamiliar shame of being studied so closely.
"You ever ridden a horse, boss?"
Izzy's back arches a fraction, the thick dildo settling deeper inside him. "No," he says through gritted teeth.
"But you've ridden me," Fang points out, and Izzy nods helplessly and starts to move.
Pete's the first to get overwhelmed, and that's no surprise. His thing for leather is nothing new—it's pretty much a given for the people who want to hook up with a guy like Fang, especially when they know he's with Blackbeard's crew—but he's always so elated by the whole thing that it kind of feels new. The first time Fang told him affectionately he could get on his knees and rub off against his boot as a reward for a sensational blowjob, it took Pete about twenty seconds at most to come, stunned and wordless, not believing his luck. He's a bit more used to it by now, but not so much that he doesn't still fall into a dreamy, euphoric sort of trance any time he gets to cling like a koala to Fang's leg, or when Fang manhandles him into the leather straps of his swing and fucks all the breath out of him.
"Can I come?" he asks, and Fang can feel his fingers trembling with the effort of trying to hold back until he gets his permission. "Please?"
"Just a bit more," Fang tells him, always curious to see how far he can push him. He knows Pete can hold out a lot longer than he believes of himself with the right kind of encouragement, and the joy of doing so is a surprise gift he loves to receive almost as much as Fang loves to give it. He covers Pete's fingers where they're digging into the knee of his leather trousers, an encouraging little squeeze when Pete's breathy little okay falls out of him almost like a sob. "Yeah, that's my good boy. Keep going, and count for me. Count to ten. Just ten more and you can come."
He counts shakily, the shift of his hips occasionally slowing or freezing absolutely still as he gnaws his lip and screws up his face trying to control himself. "Nine-ten," he whimpers eventually as one word, pulsing over the laces and the worn old creases of Fang's boot and slumping there, exhausted, shivering with the aftershocks.
"Beautiful," Fang praises him, warm with pride. "Come here, little bear."
Pete climbs onto the sofa beside him, wide-eyed and breathless and absolutely burning to be told he did well. Fang takes him by the wrist and pushes his fingers into Lucius's hair until Pete takes over steering him, freeing his own hands to tenderly draw him close for a lingering kiss.
"You're so good," he murmurs, soft and pleased, and can actually feel the way it makes Pete's breath catch. He's incredibly insecure sometimes under the gaudy mask of bravado, and reminding him how adored he is has become one of Fang's most serious jobs. "All over Papa's boot. You think we should make Izzy come over here and lick it up?"
There's a soft, desperate sound from the saddle bench, and Izzy looks mortified to have made it.
Pete glances at him and quickly away again. "Don't... I mean... he already hates me," he says quietly, leaning in close to Fang's ear so he won't be overheard. "I don't wanna piss him off even more."
Fang frowns—not cross, only befuddled. "Hates you?" he repeats in the same secret little murmur, touching Pete's flushed cheek until he leans gratefully into it, turning to kiss Fang's palm.
"Yeah. He's mean to me. He's a real asshole sometimes. I know that's just what he's like," he adds when Fang takes a breath to say something. "But, I don't know. Guess it just feels more obvious next to how much he likes you and Lulu. He thinks you guys are awesome, because yeah, you are. He just thinks I'm dumb and annoying and always in the way."
Fang kisses him, for a ton of different reasons—to buy some time to think. To show Izzy how fucking wrong he is if he really believes any of that. Mostly because he just wants to. Because Pete is cute, and funny, and smart and talented in ways that people don't always value for some bullshit reason, and when he loves he does it with his entire heart and not a hint of hesitation, and right now he's hurt and sad and he deserves to be kissed about it until he believes, even for only a moment, that he belongs exactly where he is.
Pete seems surprised by it, freezing still for a second until he cautiously begins to relax and his fingers creep up to stroke Fang's beard, a self-soothing little habit he sometimes does when he's falling asleep too. They'll have to talk about it sometime, Izzy too. Figure this stupid nonsense out, stop letting weird jealousy or misunderstandings or insecurity ruin something that should and could be sweet and easy. Not right now.
He pulls back gently, cocking his head in Izzy's direction until Pete looks over at him too. There's a dark flush high in Izzy's cheeks and a desperately ravenous sort of look in his eyes, like he'd give ten years off his life to swap places with Pete right now.
"Keep going," Fang tells him, the sort of quiet that doesn't allow any kind of refusal. "I know you can do it."
"You can move harder," Pete offers helpfully. "There's, like, springs or something in it, I guess. It's better when you ride it hard."
Izzy gives him an irritated look. "You think I don't know Blackbeard products better than you?"
"Boss," Fang warns softly, gratified to see the instant look of apology in Izzy's eyes, even if it's directed at him instead of Pete. It's a start. "You'll come on that saddle where I put you, or you'll spend the rest of the evening with your nose in the corner wondering which of Papa's belts you're going to feel at bedtime. Your choice."
"You're gonna beat him for not coming?" Pete whispers, wide-eyed and fascinated and maybe a little bit horrified. "On his birthday?" He settles a bit when Lucius reaches over to lay a hand on his thigh, never stopping the gentle pulse of his sucking, and more still when Fang touches his chin to raise his face for another kiss.
"You trust me, little bear?"
"Sure do," Pete says immediately, and lets Fang slip an arm around his shoulders to draw him closer against his side.
"Good. Trust me I know what he likes, same way I know what you like."
"And me," Lucius gasps, breathless and drooling. He chokes a pleased little sound that might be a laugh when Fang and Pete together shove his head back down.
"You stay there and keep that warm like I told you," Fang tells him, giving him a fake-exasperated little shake by the hair. "You're the rudest boy I've ever met and you won't even let me spank some respect into you. You'll ruin my reputation."
It makes him grin around the thick hard length of Fang's cock, spit dripping from the corner of his swollen lips.
"Must be true love, or something," Pete says, pleased at the idea. He's always so delighted about the fact of people loving Lucius—never jealous, only thrilled that the man he loves won't ever feel uncherished for a single second of his life. And Lucius is beautiful like this, flushed and cock-drunk with something helplessly fond and lovely in his expression when he glances up at Pete.
"I love all my boys," Fang says softly. The truth of it feels warm and intimate, like the comfortable tangle of limbs the three of them so often settle into when they're cuddling in Lucius and Pete's giant bed. Izzy's never joined them yet. Maybe he never will, and that's fine. Some people just aren't cuddlers. But there's still something naked and longing in his eyes when Fang looks at him again, fucked out of him by the motion of the mounted dildo breaking through some of his carefully-constructed shields, just as Fang hoped for when he led him there and told him to ride.
He changes his mind, suddenly. "Up," he tells Lucius, gently tugging his hair until he reluctantly releases Fang's cock and kneels up on the cushion beside him, breathing hard and lifting the hem of his t-shirt to mop his spit-soaked chin. "Izzy, come here."
"Careful!" Pete warns, darting up off the sofa to grab Izzy's elbow and steady him as he eases himself up off the fat slicked dildo fixed to the saddle bench and twists awkwardly to set both feet back on the floor. For a moment Fang thinks Izzy might snap or shake him off or say something harsh, but maybe he sees the warning look because all he does is offer a small nod of thanks. Pete looks surprised too, then thrilled, and a smoky little curl of love heats Fang from the inside out, a satisfied sort of hope that maybe they really can make all of this work in the end.
"Hi," Lucius greets him when Izzy gets closer, shuffling to the very edge of the cushion on his knees with some kind of brimming eagerness to touch. He does at least glance at Fang first for permission, playing the game even if it's never real for him the way it is for the others, and Fang gives him an indulgent sort of 'go ahead' gesture before Lucius gets his greedy wet mouth all over Izzy's chest. An extra-hungry bite around his nipple makes him wince and gasp, fingers sinking deep into Lucius's hair so he knows it's not a protest.
Pete rejoins Fang on his other side, leaning comfortably against him. "You gonna fuck him?"
"Yeah," Fang says, "if he ever gets his tits out your fiancés mouth long enough to notice I'm waiting."
Lucius laughs, breathless, giving Izzy one more loud sucking kiss before releasing him and flinging himself dramatically backwards against the far end of the L-shaped sofa. "Great view from here," he says with a Cheshire Cat grin, starting to wriggle his sweatpants down for maximum manual appreciation of said view.
"Pretty good one from here as well, babe," Pete tells him, soft and starry-eyed. He shifts a little to the side, giving Izzy enough space to kneel on the cushions when Fang grabs him by the waist and guides him down to straddle his thighs the way he was just riding the saddle, burying his cock easily in the open heat of him.
"Fuck," Izzy mutters, clenching his fingers tight around handfuls of Fang's faded old Blackbeard t-shirt.
"Yeah," Fang agrees, and grips his chin hard to pull him into a kiss that makes Izzy whine, helpless and hungry, and then grimace in embarrassment at himself. His eyes flick sideways to Pete, conspicuously insolent, like he's daring him to say something as a way to hide that what he's really doing is pleading for him not to.
"You want me to go?" Pete asks. He untucks his knees from under his chin, making like he's about to get up. "I don't wanna, like, get in the way or anything."
"Stay," Fang tells him, softly commanding, and to Izzy he says, "And you. Just like Pete said before."
"What, there's springs in you?" Izzy says, disgruntled and pushing for a bit of a fight.
Pete laughs, shocked but sounding weirdly charmed by the defiance. Fang is, too. The weirdly charmed part, at least. Definitely not shocked. Izzy when he's feeling vulnerable is as spiky as a porcupine, pathologically unable to let himself feel any kind of pleasure unless he's forced there throwing wild tantrums or resisting the whole way.
"Ride him hard," Pete reminds him.
Izzy looks like he's considering snarling at Pete to fuck off and stop telling him what to do, so Fang kisses him as a distraction. It works. He melts into it immediately, shivering at the slide of Fang's arms curling around his back to keep him steady as he starts to rise and sink. Fang's cock has been held at simmering point in Lucius's beautiful mouth for so long that this new sensation, the tight wet gorgeous friction of Izzy rocking in his lap, is enough to bloom waves and waves of tingles through all his limbs and up the back of his neck to spark fireworks in his brain.
Pete kisses Fang's cheek. "You're making him feel so good, big bear," he says, soft and a little awed, as if that's not exactly what he says about himself when he's the one speared on Fang's lap.
Izzy actually laughs at that, breathless and through gritted teeth. "You're not helping."
"I maybe, like, could, if you want," Pete offers uncertainly. "No strings. I know you're not into me. But, I mean... my hand and your dick are just right here not doing anything."
"Me too," Lucius insists at once, not prepared to be left out of the fun. He returns eagerly to his old place at Fang's side, tucking his own cock back into his sweatpants in favour of getting to play with someone else's instead. "Let me show you what he likes."
Pete sounds kind of anxious. "That okay?" he asks Izzy, and Izzy sinks low on Fang's cock, settling there, for a moment just resting his forehead against Fang's shoulder and breathing hard enough that the motion of it ripples right through the inside of him.
"Not up to me," he says at last. He won't look at Pete, or even at Lucius, but he spares a quick, beseeching glance at Fang as he sits upright again, leans back a little, offers his flushed dripping cock to whoever might want to touch it.
One day this ridiculous boy is going to learn to ask for what he wants from the people who love him. Fang's going to make sure of that if it fucking kills them both.
"Say please," he tells Izzy, jiggling one thigh to remind him he's supposed to be moving.
"Please," Izzy says immediately. He screws his eyes shut, frowning in concentration as he finds a deep, rocking rhythm that slides Fang's cock in and out of him at an angle that wrecks his posture and makes him shudder with pleasure.
"Like this, babe," Lucius says, painting Pete's palm wet with his tongue and then wrapping his fingers around Izzy's cock, keeping his own hand there to show him exactly how to hold him. "Tighter on the way down. Give him a nice little twist at the top, not too hard. That's it."
"Like this?" Pete checks, even as Izzy's pushing helplessly into their joined hands.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Please. Please."
"Good boy," Fang tells him softly, lifting up to meet him every time Izzy sinks down around his thrumming cock, but really he's talking to all of them. "So many good boys in this town."
