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Finlay leans over to check his handiwork, his lips twitching at the sight of the words decorated across Luke’s face.
Thought Criminal.
This feels weird and strange and oddly subversive. Like we’re doing something bad and provocative, yet at the same time gaining a wry kind of strength from it. It’s innocent symbolism as well as anything but: a pleasurable fuck-you to every miserable detractor Luke’s endured in his path so far.
Finlay hasn’t left his place behind Luke, and Luke’s breath deepens as though trying to keep it under control. But the whole point about blindfolds is that you’ve handed the reins to someone else to relish freefall in a blinkered, blinded state. There is no control.
“Can he see?” Rory asks, and I waggle my fingers beneath Luke’s nose. He makes no noise, makes no indication he sees what I’m doing.
“No.”
“Good. Undress him.”
My heart leaps. Luke’s back straightens. Finlay meets my gaze in hope.
He turns his head to Rory. “I can dae mair,” he suggests lightly, before glancing at Luke. “If… y’know, you wanna.”
It takes a moment for Luke to show any indication that he’s heard Finlay, but then his nostrils pulse with an indignant, giveaway flare like a fussy stallion. “If you’re going to put that unstoppable mouth to use,” he eventually drawls, “I’d rather it focus on me than on speech.”
Despite this acidic put-down, Finlay brightens like a happy flower. “Aye? I mean, I know we huvnae done anythin’ together…”
“I’ve shared a dorm with you for years, Fin. There are things I cannot unsee.”
“Fairy ‘nuff.”
This small negotiation over with, though its consequences don’t seem small to either of the men in front of me, I lean forward to trace Luke’s zipper with my fingertips. His muscles jerk wantonly, his face tipping toward the ceiling. He blows out an unsteady, cooling breath, and I realize as I watch the ridge of his cock swell irresistibly beneath his tight black jeans that I haven’t even touched him properly yet.
Finlay leans on his elbows, stretched out with such ease on the pink floral bed that he may as well be floating on a cloud. His ear grazes the tip of Luke’s hip, and he watches the two of us, his green eyes dark and flashing.
I unbuckle Luke’s jeans, slow and savoring the sounds of sex — the clink of metal, the breath of an unbutton, the whisper of a zipper and the groans torn from its teeth. Luke plants his hands on the large expanse of bed behind him, no longer precise and upright but poised at a diagonal, his hips angled toward my hands.
Finlay draws up behind him hesitantly, catching Luke’s sides to secure him in place. Luke’s muscles tauten, becoming as hard as marble, before visibly relaxing. I run my hands down Luke’s broad thighs, trying to soothe him, trying to make him feel cherished, and it reminds me of keeping a wild majestic horse under control, as though one wrong move will send him bolting.
When I expose his erection, Luke gives a small, quiet hiss. His cock stands so proud and princely, hoisted tall and upright over the plush swirl of black hair that decorates the base. Behind him, Finlay takes the hem of Luke’s oversized sweatshirt between steady fingers and begins to peel it off. A broad expanse of umber skin is revealed, and Luke’s hiss grows louder.
“Hold him.” With his sweatshirt removed, I note the hitch in Luke’s chest, the concaveness of his stomach, the moment Rory’s voice cuts through the room.
It’s impossible to tell who this order is designed for, though I hold Luke’s warm length in my palm at the same time Finlay leans forward and drapes his arms cloak-like around Luke’s body.
His cock surges in my hand. I watch in fascination the slow slide of Finlay’s bare white forearms across the smooth ridges of Luke’s carved chest, the two of them trying to be quiet as they breathe in time together, but their breaths still loud enough for me to hear.
“Speak, little saint — what do you want?”
I swallow, my cheeks flaring with heat. Rory’s playing me again. After the computer room, I know he won’t be satisfied with small, safe statements. He wants my tongue corrupted, my words to be filth, the truth to pour out. Finlay’s green eyes are hot and burning as they land on me.
“I want to make Luke come,” I inform Rory matter-of-factly, gathering courage from a well deep within.
Luke’s erection gives a swift, sudden jerk. He tips his throat to the ceiling again, the back of his head nudging against Finlay.
“If Finlay touches him while I suck him, and you continue to command us, then I think Luke might come even harder. I want to make Luke explode with pleasure, and for my tongue to drain his cock of cum.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the room —Danny. I glance at him, only to find my best friend’s hand scrabbling against his thighs helplessly, as though desperate to touch himself and yet determined to hold himself back.
“Other people are welcome to come, too,” I say, and my eyes flick to Rory. “Under your command, of course.”
“Fuck,” Danny groans, his fingernails scraping against the seam of his jeans.
“In which case… no.” I glance at Rory in surprise. Finlay and Danny turn their heads, less in surprise and more in sheer indignation. “Only Luke may come.”
