Page 133 of Rears & Vices

“Well,” Everard corrected, “he perhaps implied you and he were... incompatible.”

Vitaliy raised an eyebrow that said, Truly?

“And said that you and he… hadn’t. Since before York.”

“Oh, yes,” Vitya said. “That’s true.” He twisted his fingers, and D’Arcy bucked. “But before then…” He pulled his idle hand through his hair, smiled the tiny, knowing smile of a benevolent god. “Much, before then.”

“Christ.” D’Arcy clutched at sheets. “I think he’s gathered. Vee, would you just—” He groaned, threw his head back, sheen on his top lip and all over, the day’s stubble sparking in the flickering light.

“Yes. I will.” Vitya glanced up once more. “How do you want him?”

Everard startled. “Hmm?”

“Ever,” D’Arcy breathed. He raised a shiny hand and gestured in a way that’d previously meant, Which way should he like to take him?

“Oh.” Good God. The options fanned before Everard in a spread—most of them memories of D’Arcy himself—impossible to choose from.

Almost. Luckily, the way he preferred to receive and the way D’Arcy did were the same.

“On your stomach. Arse—” He cleared his throat, “Arse up. Off the end of ’er. He’ll want a steady base.”

“Fuck,” D’Arcy muttered; but he flipped, shimmied, stacked pillows, and arched, and— “C’mon, Vee.”

Vitaliy climbed off the cot. He pushed knees wide, leaned forward, hands spreading, and sank in straightaway, no hesitation.

Then D’Arcy was his usual impatient self: he pushed back, writhed up, demanding, until Vitya put both hands on shoulders and pinned him, arms taut, and rasped, “No.”

“Oh, lord,” Everard said.

With an almighty breath, Vitya thrust once, brutally, sheathing himself totally. D’Arcy went boneless and shuddering; Vitya drew back and did it again. And again, and again, slow and powerful and merciless. Then, with D’Arcy panting and encouraging in whispers, he leaned, pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, flung the coat up out of the way—Everard staggered at the sight, at the reminder that he was meant to watch—and let himself to the abandon of thrusting.

And strangely, the most erotic part of it wasn’t the actions, or the pants and the staccato groans D’Arcy made into the bedclothes, nor Vitya’s taut arms, nor even the slaps of flesh on flesh as Vitya let him have it as hard as he could give it.

It was the trust. Trust these men were giving to each other, and to him. Him, Everard. D’Arcy gave his body over totally and completely, giving Vitya freedom to go as hard as he would for the sake of Everard, but without fear of actual harm. Vitya gave his utter abandon of dignity, held the weight of knowledge that D’Arcy could take it, gave the trust of that fact right back. Safe. Safe.

And both of them trusted that Everard could take it—would see it all and understand and want it and encourage it. Safe.

Everard stood—staying well clear of the back-and-forth of the cot, because Vitya was strong and the whole heavy thing rocked when he was like this, and God, he wanted that—and put his hand over D’Arcy’s longer-than-regulation curls. They danced under the force of Vitya’s thrusts, slipped through and caught on his fingers.

“Proxy, my arse,” he murmured. “You sly dog.”

D’Arcy slit his eyes open at him. They gleamed with mirth. “You—want—something—Ever—ard?”

“Hmm.” Everard tightened his hand in silky warmth; D’Arcy groaned. “Besides to be precisely where you are?” He put a thumb to D’Arcy’s lips, pushed just past. “Or perhaps here?”

Vitya cursed. His rhythm staggered, swayed, and then increased.

D’Arcy dropped his head on a moan.

“Oh, no.” Everard held on tight to curls, pulled up gently; Vitya shallowed his thrusts accommodatingly. “You raise up and take it for me.”

D’Arcy’s eyes rolled. “Fu–u–uck. Like—to—see—you—here,” he panted. “See—you—ta–a–ake it.”

He dimpled, eyes crinkling shut in bliss; of course he had already seen Everard like this a fair few times. That wasn’t the point. Everard leaned and kissed him, messily, ’til D’Arcy whimpered tellingly, and his prick looked urgent, valleying the bedclothes.

Everard let him go.

Vitya’s eyes were dark, dark, dark. They shone with approval. His breaths had turned shallow, controlled.