If you have good sex, you’ve done a lot right in life.
Clare puts the idea in her head, while they’re celebrating a successful art show by smoking a blunt the size of three of Lardo’s fingers and sharing way too much information about their sex lives.
“I mean,” Clare says, sprawled out on her bed with her feet in Lardo’s lap, “it was, like, totally overwhelming. But like, in a good way?”
Lardo taps ashes off the end of the blunt with one hand, painting Clare’s toenails with the other. Regularly keeping pace with dudes twice her size is good for her tolerance, and managing a hockey team has done wonders for her ability to multitask. “Gotta be honest,” she says, “I’m still working out the mechanics.”
And trying to figure out how they got from discussing sapphic imagery in Renaissance art to Clare’s Tales of Lesbian Double Penetration, but Lardo think she might have to do too many mental loops to trace that one back.
Clare takes the blunt back. “Well, strap-ons. Obvs. And, like, a fuckton of lube.” Lardo makes a face, and Clare giggles. “Whatever. It was awesome.” She cocks her pierced eyebrow. “You never thought about it?”
Lardo puts the cap back on the nail polish. “Not really,” she begins, and then stops, thinking about it again. She lives in--and has spent most of her college life hanging out at--a house full of pretty attractive dudes, and she’s never claimed to be a saint. Even if it’s definitely not cool to look at your friends and think, yeah, I’d ride that. “Maybe like...abstractly?”
Clare hums her agreement, but still looks thoughtful. “I kind of thought you’d be into it, honestly.”
Lardo blinks. “Why?”
Clare hands her back the blunt. “Well, you told me you like it when you’re all, y’know, surrounded and held and stuff. You can’t really get more held in place than when you’ve got two people inside you at once. Seemed like your kind of thing.”
Lardo stares at her, the blunt held limply in her hand, feeling like a pin has just fallen into place suddenly in her brain and all the air has rushed directly out of her lungs. Clare grins, and Lardo swallows around her suddenly very heavy tongue. “Holy shit,” she says, a little faintly. “Clare. My dude. That is like...definitely my thing. How did I not know that this was my thing?”
“Just call me the kink recognition fairy,” Clare says cheerfully, sitting up and plucking the blunt from Lardo’s weak fingers. She takes a hit, and then reaches out and gently pokes Lardo’s nose with the tip of her finger. “Hey,” she says seriously. “Thank you for trusting me with this moment.” Lardo rolls her eyes at the Shitty-ism, but takes the blunt back when it’s offered.
“Also,” Clare says casually, “let me know if you want Camilla’s number. Strap-on skills ten out of ten, do recommend.” She pauses. “Hey, didn’t she date your friend Jack?”
Lardo chokes on smoke.
The thing is--the thing is, now that she’s thought of it, she can’t really stop.
Lardo knows...look, she knows what it looks like, okay? She goes to Samwell, she’s taken her share of Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality classes, she regularly sleeps with a dude whose favorite rant topics include “this week in white supremacist heteropatriarchal bullshit I dealt with at Harvard law”--she is Fully Aware of what it means to be a tiny Asian girl who is super into being overpowered and held down while someone much bigger than her fucks her into a mattress.
But the way she figures it, she was also raised by parents who taught her, essentially, to Do No Harm But Take No Shit. Aside from the casual sexism of the lacrosse bros--which, almost to their credit, is just regular gross as opposed to racist gross--she’s dodged a lot of the bullets she knows most girls her age have dealt with. She’s not using her sex life to work through any cultural traumas, and even if she was, she’s pretty sure that she doesn’t have to justify it.
There’s also this:
The idea is fucking hot. Lardo might not be an athlete, but she likes pushing her body. She thinks vaginas are badass, and has been pretty impressed with hers in particular. She’s never had patience for guys--or girls--treating her like she’s fragile just because she’s small; she likes feeling stretched and full and almost overwhelmed. Sleeping with Shitty has been great--when she’d told him that she likes feeling pushed, he’d delightedly spent several hours browsing sex toys and getting her opinion on things like “how many orgasms do you think would be too many orgasms? Because, like, there’s overstimulation, and then there’s overstimulation, y’know?” and “Hey, so, bondage tape: yes or no?”
(They have had to have a few conversations that involved the word ‘mansplain.’ Because Lardo loves Shitty, she does, but sometimes he forgets that feminist theory, great as it is, does not equal lived experience. At least he’s got the grace to shut up and listen. She’s only sin binned him twice.)
So she’s into it. She’s very into it.
She calls Shitty.
He picks up the Skype call from his apartment in Cambridge. He’s shirtless, which isn’t a surprise, but wearing pants, which is. At her arched eyebrow, he puts his hands up. “Not a word, Duan,” he says. “Pizza guy was just here, and I am enough of a gentleman to not introduce the dude to my junk on our first meeting.”
Lardo grins. “They haven’t assigned you an official pizza guy yet?”
“Nah,” he says, flopping down into his desk chair. “I think they pull short straws.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at her, and she feels warmth spread comfortably through her chest. “Miss you, bro.”
They haven’t really defined this...thing that’s going on between them. They’re not Facebook official and they haven’t talked about being sexually exclusive, though she hasn’t had a hookup since they started sleeping together, and he hasn’t, either. They don’t talk about labels, but they drop I love yous easily, and Shitty has said with complete seriousness on more than one occasion that he will absolutely take her name when--not if--they get married.
(She’d pushed him off the bed and blushed down to her toes, and his grin hadn’t faded for hours.)
Now, she hums in amusement. “Because I’d answer the door so that you wouldn’t have to put your dick back in junk jail?”
“I hate junk jail,” he says sadly. He rummages out of the view of the camera and comes back into the frame with a piece of pizza. “So,” he says. “What’s up?”
Lardo taps her fingernails against her laptop, and decides to go for it. “Remember how you asked me if there was something special I wanted to do for my birthday?”
Shitty raises his eyebrows. “I asked twice,” he says. “There was the ‘do you want to get high and go stargazing’ something special question, and the ‘here is a list of vibrators, which one do you think would make you squirt on my face’ something special question. Which one are we talking about?”
See, this is why she loves him. “The second one,” she says.
“Nice,” he says. He puts his pizza down. “What did you decide?”
Lardo hesitates. This is the part she’s not quite sure about. “It’s not something we’ve talked about before,” she says slowly. “And before you say anything, I’ve already thought about the implications of this in the context of my identity as a queer Asian woman living in a white heterosexist patriarchy, and I want to do it anyway.”
“Bro,” Shitty says, looking almost tearful. “That is the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” He leans forward, his eyes earnest and open. “Tell me what you want.”
Lardo takes a breath. “I want to try double penetration.”
She braces herself for an immediate reaction, but she should know better--it’s Shitty. He tilts his head to one side, regards her calmly, and says, “Okay.” And then, “Cool.” And then, “Can I comment and also ask follow-up questions?”
It’s such a Shitty response, and relief courses through her. “Bro,” she says, relaxing back into her seat. “Of course.”
“Great.” He grins. “First thing,” he says, holding up a finger. “That is hot as fuck, and I would like to personally thank whoever made you think of it.”
“That would be Clare,” she says. “You can send her a fruit basket.”
“I would never, what kind of WASP-y bullshit,” he says, looking affronted. “I’ll just bring her some weed the next time I hit Samwell.” He holds up another finger. “Second,” he says, and hesitates. “I’m, uh, trying to figure out how to phrase this. Have you thought about...y’know, logistics?”
She has. Sort of. Lardo drums her fingertips gently against her laptop. “Kind of,” she says slowly. “I want it to be real. I mean--” Her cheeks feel warm, and she mentally smacks herself for the sudden shyness. This is Shitty. She can have a frank conversation with him. “Like, two flesh-and-blood penises.”
Shitty nods, slow and thoughtful. “Because it’s not just about the penetration, right?” he asks, tilting his head to one side. “It’s the physical part of it, too?”
Lardo’s skin tingles. “Yeah.” She can’t help a slight smile. “You know me too well.”
He cracks a grin. “Well, you did preface it with the whole identity thing,” he says. “And I did listen to all those times you informed me that your sexual preferences are not problematic representations of male dominance and power structures, and that if you want a specifically cis dude to hold you down and nail you, that’s your prerogative.”
“You do care,” she says dryly. She pauses. “There's also--you know, like, I feel like a guy has more awareness of his dick than someone has of a strap-on? Just sensation-wise? I feel like it’ll make me feel safer.”
“That’s fair,” he agrees. He pauses, then, some uncertainty hovering around his features. “Here’s the thing, though.”
Lardo tenses. “We don’t have to do it if you’re not into it,” she says.
Shitty shakes his head. “No, it’s not--” He runs a hand through his hair. The flow’s growing back from where she’d cropped it before graduation, and Lardo watches the movement, tracing the flex of the tendons in his long fingers. “I’d want to,” he says, after a moment of thoughtful silence. “But it’s also, like--super intimate, y’know? I mean, I’m not an expert, but I’ve seen some porn in my day, Lards, and that is some shit that requires, like, major communication and trust. And I guess I’m just...trying to figure out who we know that we could trust with that?”
He sounds hesitant, like he doesn’t want to disappoint her, and Lardo leans forward, getting a little closer to her screen. “Shits,” she begins, ready to tell him that he can forget about it, that it was just an idea, but he cuts her off.
“Can I ask another follow-up question?”
She nods. “Sure.”
Shitty folds his hands together and props his chin on them, looking at her curiously, but not with any kind of judgment. “Is this something you want to try with me, specifically? Or for yourself?”
His expression is earnest and thoughtful, and she appreciates that. She takes a minute to think about it, and he gives it to her, patient, his pizza ignored next to him. “For me, I think,” she says, slowly, tracing her fingertips over the raised pattern on her duvet cover. “I want--” She pauses, takes a second or two to think about her phrasing, and then shrugs and goes for it. “I want to see if I can do it.”
Shitty grins at her. “Because you’re a badass,” he agrees, and leans back in his chair--relaxing, she thinks, not rejecting. “So, here’s my thought. I think you should go for it. I think you should find some guys who know what they’re doing, who trust each other and might have done it before, and see if you can tag them in.”
Lardo cocks an eyebrow. “Shitty,” she says. “Is this you telling me to sleep with other people?”
He points a finger at her through his webcam. “This is me giving my enthusiastic consent for you to seek out partners who can help you scratch a particular sexual itch,” he says, and then the corner of his mouth twitches in a grin. “I mean, I’ll be honest, Lards--if it was something a little less intense, I’d say hey, sure, I’ll do it. I’ve touched some dicks, wouldn’t say no to doing it again. But I don’t think I’m ready to jump right into DP with someone I’ve never slept with.” He tilts his head. “Is that cool?”
“Yeah,” she says, a little surprised. “Bro. Of course. I’d never want you to do something you weren’t comfortable with.”
“I know, I just--” He cracks a wry smile, but she knows him too well not to see the slight insecurity underneath it. “I don’t wanna take something away from you, y’know?”
“You aren’t,” she points out. “You’re telling me to go get it.” She reaches out and pokes at her camera, and he snorts a laugh. “Because you’re my guy.”
“You’re my guy,” he says, but his shoulders have lost their momentary tension. He shifts forward in his seat again, picking up his pizza. “Hey,” he says. “You know who you should ask? Don’t laugh.”
“You’re really selling it, whoever it is,” she says dryly, picking up the can of beer she’d abandoned when she called him. “Who?”
Shitty wipes pizza grease on the bottom of his paper plate. “Rans and Holster.”
Lardo doesn’t do a spit take, but it’s close. When she gets her shit back under control, she manages, “Are you serious?”
Shitty shrugs. “They’ve got the whole d-men drift compatibility thing going on,” he says. “And, well.” He leers slightly. “Thin hotel walls don’t lie, bro; they’ve definitely tag-teamed some puck bunnies on roadies, and they’ve had a few repeat offenders at kegsters, too.”
Lardo looks doubtfully at her beer can. “I don’t know,” she says. “They’re bros.”
“I was a bro,” Shitty says, affronted.
She rolls her eyes. “You were never just a bro,” she says, fondly, and he beams at her.
“True,” he says. He pops the rest of his pizza slice into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, and swallows with what looks like some difficulty. “You thinking about your team manager rep?” She nods, and he looks thoughtful. “I don’t think they kiss and tell,” he says. “I mean, they give deets, but they’re actually pretty discreet about naming names, unless they’ve got permission. And like you said--they’re bros. They’d never fuck you over.” He pauses. “Also,” he says, “I am, like, eighty-two percent sure they’ve got some experience with the particular maneuver you’re interested in.”
Lardo feels her eyebrows drift up toward her hairline. Shitty is always a fountain of information, but sometimes he still surprises her. “Yeah?”
He gives her a look somewhere between a grin and a grimace. “Thin walls, bro. Also, you know their room in the Haus was like, right over mine. Well, yours, now.”
“I have very loud speakers,” she says, but she’s thinking about it, now, and...huh.
Shitty’s a decently big guy, especially compared to her, but Ransom and Holster are huge, and her skin tingles at the idea of the two of them wrapped around her, like their celly hugs or affectionate double embraces, but so different. She’s seen them both naked--the locker room is a sacred space, but the team pretty unanimously voted her access to it--and she knows they’re both packing.
Warmth curls through her lower belly, and she swallows, her mouth feeling suddenly dry. “Huh.”
On her screen, Shitty grins. “I know that face,” he says. “Get it, girl.”
She flushes, and wishes he was here in person so she could punch him. “Shut up,” she grumbles, but she knows she’s grinning.
“Yeah, yeah.” Shitty leers at her for another moment, then shoves his pizza away. “So,” he says. “Now that we’ve had this super-awesome chat about consent and boundaries and how awesome it is that you’re gonna get the best birthday fucking of your life from some of our best bros ever, how about Skype sex?”
He waggles his eyebrows, then waggles his ‘stache, and she can’t help a laugh. “Yeah, bro,” she says, and pulls off her shirt.
“’Swasome,” Shitty says. He grins wide enough to show all his teeth, and proceeds to talk her through one of the dirtiest orgasms she’s had in weeks, his voice low and husky, his eyes never leaving hers.
Deciding she’s into an idea and actually doing anything about it kind of turn out to be different things.
Mostly because--and this is the sticking point--she’s spent her entire career as the Samwell Men’s Hockey team manager making sure that none of the guys on the team see her as a potential sexual conquest. She’s got a rep to maintain, sure, but there’s also the team unity piece. And, frankly, while she loves her dudes to hell and back, she really doesn’t have any desire to sleep with just about any of them.
So suddenly finding herself thinking very seriously about boning Ransom and Holster is a bit of an adjustment. And she’s pretty sure it’s really not buddies to drop, hey, i want two guys to fuck me at once, you into that? into their CLASS O’ 2016!!!! group chat.
In the end, she just kind of falls into it when Holster pokes his head into her room. “Hey, Lards,” he says. “Isn’t your birthday coming up?”
Lardo pauses mid-stroke on the canvas she’s working on, laying her paintbrush down. “Next month, yeah,” she says.
“Told you,” he says over his shoulder.
Predictably, Ransom’s face appears in the doorway an instant later. “I wasn’t doubting,” he says. “All I said was that sometimes people put fake birthdays on Facebook just to fuck with people, and that is an entirely Lardo thing to do.”
“True,” Lardo allows.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t checking Facebook, bro, I was checking the team Google calendar, and you know Bits puts that shit together.” He plops down on her bed, and then bounces back up to lean forward, elbows on his knees. “So, Lardo. Lards. Larissa-explains-it-all.”
She makes a face at him. “Overkill,” she says.
Holster grins. “Fair,” he agrees. “So, what do you want for your birthday? Rans and I go splitsies. It’s our thing.”
Ransom nods, leaning against the door frame. “Partially because we do awesome tag-team presents, and partly because it helps our psychic connection.”
He holds out one fist. Without looking, Holster bumps it with his own. Lardo’s pretty sure that move would have looked cooler if she hadn’t watched them practice it for about eight hours their frog year until they finally got it right without punching each other. “Splitsies are good,” she says slowly. She steps away from her easel, wiping paint onto her jeans, and then pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“It’s cool if you don’t know yet,” Holster says. “But, y’know, senior year, probably our last Lardo birthday celly--thought we should ask so we can make it good.”
Lardo frowns. “Did Shitty talk to you two?” She’ll kill him.
Holster blinks. “About what?”
“Nothing.” She purses her lips, and then beckons Ransom into the room. He cocks one eyebrow--there may come a day when she’s not totally jealous of Ransom’s eyebrow game, but it is not this day--and steps inside, closing the door behind him, because his rep as the smartest guy on the team is nothing if not well-deserved. “There’s a thing,” she begins. “But--”
“Say no more,” Holster says promptly. “We will absolutely fuck up the lax house for you. It will be the best birthday ever.”
Lardo smacks his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “I know that’s what you do for Shitty’s birthday. It’s cheating to use the same present twice.”
Ransom puts a hand to his chest. “You wound us, Lards,” he says meaningfully. “It would be a totally separate fucking-with-the-lax-bros initiative.”
“Still no,” she says. She slips her hands into her back pockets, then feels too vulnerable and crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay,” she says. “I’m gonna ask for something, and if it’s not cool, we’re gonna forget I said it and you can just buy me some sweet-ass paintbrushes, okay?”
Holster looks a little surprised, and glances at Ransom, who glances back in one of their weird ESP brain exchanges before he looks back at Lardo, expression open. “Sure, bro,” he says. “Ask away.”
Lardo takes a deep breath, and just decides to go for it. “So,” she says, shooting for casual, “you know how you guys sometimes...team up off the ice?”
They exchange another glance. She’d been vague on purpose, but they’re not dumb, and Holster’s cheeks are a little pink when he looks at her. “Yes,” he says slowly.
She arches an eyebrow, and waits.
It takes a second, and then she sees it click on both their faces. Holster grins, slow and wicked. “Bro,” he says. “Seriously?”
Lardo narrows her eyes a fraction until she’s determined that the look on his face is his I’m gonna get laid smile, not his I’m gonna chirp this motherfucker to hell and back smile, and then nods. “Seriously,” she says. “If, you know. You’re cool with it.”
Ransom’s eyebrows have crept up to his hairline, but he definitely doesn’t look not cool with it, and Holster looks like a giddy puppy. Ransom shoves at Holster’s shoulder, and Holster moves over on her bed so that Ransom can plop down next to him. “I feel like there’s backstory to this,” he says. “Not that I’m not into it, Lards, you know you’re hot, I just, uh.” He clears his throat. “Kinda thought you and Shitty were a thing?”
Holster pokes him. “Fine,” he says. “Doubting Lardo’s agency in making her own sexual decisions.”
“Ob-fucking-jection,” Ransom retorts. “Shitty’s our bro, it is buddies to make sure that one bro is not fucking another bro over.” He glances a little guiltily at Lardo. “Not that I don’t trust you.”
She shrugs. “Objection sustained. It’s cool.” Suddenly feeling too conspicuous, standing in the middle of the room, she hooks an ankle around her desk chair and tugs it over to sit backwards in it, facing them. “There was something I wanted to try. Shitty said I should outsource.” She props her elbows on the back of the chair and pillows her chin in her palms. “Recommended you two by name, by the way.”
Holster’s ears go pink. Ransom puts a solemn hand over his heart. “He is the best of bros,” he say solemnly.
Holster nudges him with his shoulder. “Lardo wants to sleep with us,” he says pointedly. “It might be a tie.” Lardo waggles her eyebrows at him, just to be playful, and he grins at her. “Do we get to know what it is you’re outsourcing?”
Lardo licks her bottom lip, thoughtful. Worst thing they can do is say no, she thinks.
“I want you both to fuck me,” she says. When that doesn’t get much of a reaction beyond identical grins, she adds, “At the same time.”
That gets a reaction. Ransom’s jaw drops, and Holster’s pupils blow out. “Lards,” he says. “You fucking beaut.”
Lardo’s cheeks go a little warm, but she keeps it together. “So that’s a yes?”
They don’t even look at each other to confirm, but then, she hadn’t really expected them to need to. “I guess you won’t be getting paintbrushes,” Ransom says. His eyes are glinting, and Holster’s smile is wicked, and Lardo grins.
Except they don’t talk anymore about it. They fist-bump her and promise they’ll touch base about logistics and then leave her room arguing about Mario Kart. And then there’s nothing for three weeks, until Lardo almost starts to think that maybe she imagined the conversation happening at all. Neither of them treat her any differently, that’s for sure, and she’s not about to text them to verify.
(Once, she thinks about asking Shitty to check for her, but decides against it.)
Then, the week before her birthday, while she’s struggling through the homework for the quantitative reasoning gen ed she’s pushed as late as she dares, her phone vibrates on the kitchen table.
Lardo frowns briefly at her phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Across the table, Bitty raises his eyebrows at her. “Lardo? Everything Okay?”
She glances at him. “Yeah, it’s cool.” She throws caution to the wind and types back.
Lardo wonders, briefly, if she’s about to get chirped to hell and back. But the reply, when it comes, is equal parts predictable and comforting.
She snorts. Bitty looks up from his homework. “Sorry,” she says.
He shakes his head, amused. “Tell Shitty I say hi,” he teases.
Lardo doesn’t correct him, just grins, and goes back to her worksheet.
Ten minutes later, her phone goes off again, this time with a Google calendar alert. She ignores it, figuring it’s just a change to the practice schedule--Murray and Hall have been making a lot of switches this semester. But when Bitty’s phone doesn’t go off, she frowns, glancing up. He’s still scribbling down notes, brow furrowed and lips pursed, so Lardo picks up her phone to look at it.
It’s not a change to the practice schedule. Instead, it’s a new event confirmation, titled LARDO’S BIRTHDAY GETAWAY, set as an all-day event that runs through her entire birthday weekend. The location is set to an AirBnB address in Quincy.
She clicks the link, and her jaw drops. It’s a beach house.
A really, really beautiful beach house, with sprawling rooms and a ton of light and a gorgeous kitchen and a porch that opens right onto the beach, and according to the Google Calendar, it’s hers for the entire weekend.
She jerks her head up. Bitty is watching her with arched eyebrows, his expression a particularly Southern mix of concerned and needling for gossip. “You okay?”
Lardo is sure that her cheeks are flaming, but she plays it cool, just to save face. “Yeah, bro, all good here.” She gets to her feet. “I gotta run upstairs for a bit, you cool here?”
Bitty nods enthusiastically, pushing his books away and picking up his own phone. Convinced this is going to end up on her Twitter feed later, Lardo narrows her eyes at him--Bitty blinks innocently back, all charm--then gives up and troops up the stairs.
There’s no sock on the attic door, so she barges in, glare pasted firmly in place. Ransom and Holster are at their shared desk, working on something, and Lardo takes just enough time to make sure that Ransom’s not in coral reef mode before holding out her phone, the picture of the beach house still on the screen, and demands, “What the shit, bros?”
Ransom looks at her phone, and then, a little guiltily, up at her. “Uh,” he says. “Happy early birthday?”
Lardo stares. “What?”
Ransom shrugs. “You’re always saying how you never get any shit done because it’s always so loud here,” he says. “And you draw beach scenes all the time. So we figured, y’know, why not get you some time away so you can chill by yourself?”
Lardo blinks. “You…” She trails off. “Seriously?”
Holster leans back in his chair. “Totally, bro. Besides, this way you can relax, hang out, do some art, shit like that. And then you can just decide when you want us to come rock your world, and then kick us out when you’re done with us.”
“Right,” Ransom agrees. “Or we don’t have to be there at all; it can just be, like, your space.” He pauses. “We just thought it’d be good to have a spot that’s a little more...private than the Haus.”
“Full disclosure,” Holster adds, “This is a collaborative present. Jack paid. He says he’ll send you a card later.” He grins. “Apparently it’s super useful to be friends with an NHL player, who knew?”
“Ain’t sayin’ he a gold digger,” Ransom raps under his breath. Holster grabs a pillow off his bed and chucks it at him, and Ransom catches it, cackling.
Holster rolls his eyes, then seems to notice that Lardo’s still gaping at them. His grin fades. “Hey,” he says, a little nervously. “Lards, you okay? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure we can cancel it, if you don’t--”
Lardo pries her tongue off the bottom of her mouth, where it’s been stuck like a piece of lead. “No,” she manages. “No, don’t cancel it, I’m just…” Really fucking touched? She doesn’t even know how to explain it. She’s pretty sure the last time someone did something this nice for her, it was Shitty, staying up all night bedazzling shit for her art show. “This is really fucking thoughtful,” she manages finally. “Seriously. I don’t even know what to say.”
She looks down at her phone again, swiping through the beach house pictures. The master bedroom is big and bright, with a ton of light and a huge bed. She gazes at the pristine bedspread in the image, and then looks up at Rans and Holster. “You two should come with me,” she decides.
Surprise darts across Ransom’s face. “Uh,” he says. “I thought you were gonna see Shitty?”
“I was,” Lardo says, not bothering to point out that she’d said that to Holster, because it’s a crapshoot who’s texting from either of their phones at any time anyway. “But that was before I knew about this.” She brandishes her phone. “So now, since you got us this nice quiet place away from the Haus, and Shitty’s got a massive deets kink anyway, I’m thinking you and me go up together, and...see where it goes?”
Ransom’s lips part, like she’s stunned him silent. Holster seems to have the opposite problem. “Larissa, you beautiful motherfucker,” he says, in the exact same awed, delighted tone he uses when she kicks his ass at flip cup. “I could kiss you.”
“Not in the Haus,” she says.
He nods, solemn, like she’s said something sacred--and who knows, maybe she has. “Fist bump?” he offers, offering his knuckles. Ransom grins, and does the same.
Lardo smiles. They exchange a three-way fistbump, none of their knuckles fully touching, but all of them making contact with each other.
It should be weird, but it isn’t.
It fits. It’s chill.
The beach house is gorgeous in person, and Lardo actually stops short in the entryway just to stare, because she actually can’t remember the last time she was somewhere so clean.
Holster, coming up the stairs behind her and carrying most of their stuff, nearly walks right into her. “Lardo,” he complains, “you can’t just stop short and--” He breaks off, looking around the living room. “Damn,” he whistles. “We would have to sacrifice a Frog to the Haus ghosts to ever get the Haus this clean.”
Lardo snorts, tossing her backpack onto the couch. “Or something,” she says, turning to take one of the six-packs of beer from him and leading the way into the kitchen.
Which is huge, all gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances. “Holy shit,” Ransom says, coming in with the rest of the beer. “Somewhere, Bitty just jizzed his pants, and has no idea why.”
Holster snickers, taking beers and food out of their shopping bags and storing them in the fridge, and Lardo perches on one of the counters. Ransom pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and plops down into it. “So,” he says. “Lards. How do you want this to play out?”
Lardo thinks for a moment, swinging her legs back and forth, her feet dangling, nowhere close to the floor. As they’d driven from Samwell to Quincy, she’d tossed around the idea of letting things unfold naturally, seeing how it happened, but now, she thinks, she doesn’t really want the uncertainty of that. And it’s her birthday present, isn’t it? “I want to try tonight,” she decides. “If that’s cool.”
Ransom grins. “Totally,” he says.
She narrows her eyes slightly, tilting her head to one side and studying him. She has seen Justin Oluransi take way less time to be cool over way less significant shit, and having sex with two of your best friends--even if you’ve had a couple threesomes with one of them before--is no small thing. If he’s just playing cool about this because it’s her birthday, she’s going to murder him. “Rans--”
“It’s cool, Lards,” Holster says, straightening out of the fridge and sitting down at the table next to Ransom, brushing his fingers over Ransom’s shoulder as he does. “He made a spreadsheet, and night one threesome was one of the possible outcomes of this weekend. As long as you hit in one of the columns, he was gonna be chill.”
Ransom gives her finger guns. “What he said.”
Briefly, Lardo considers chirping him for that, but she knows that spreadsheets and planners are basically the only things standing between Ransom and a constant state of panic attack, so she lets it go. “Cool,” she says. “So…”
She trails off, lets it hang there between them, not sure where to go from here.
Holster looks pointedly at Ransom, who clears his throat. “So,” he says. “I have a suggestion about that. If, y’know. You wanted one.”
Lardo feels a rush of relief. She’s great with sex, but she knows the communication that goes with it isn’t always her strongest skill. She’s a doer, not a talker. “That would be good.”
Ransom leans back in his seat. “First up, we have a chat about this whole thing. Just logistics--y’know, likes, dislikes, hard limits, shit like that. Then we go upstairs and just...hook up. Nothing fancy, just to take the edge off.” Lardo raises her eyebrows, and Ransom shrugs. “Hear me out, bro. If we go right for the main event, we’re all gonna be tense and wired, big expectations...recipe for disaster. This way, we get some of the tension off.”
Lardo gives that a moment’s thought, and then nods. “Fair.”
“Cool,” Ransom says. “Then, we shower off, go out for an absurdly expensive dinner--also courtesy of Jack Zimmermann, he’ll Venmo us later--then come back here, and,” he waggles his eyebrows. “Rock your world, homegirl.”
“Pretty sure my world’s not the only one that’ll be rocked,” Lardo says, giving him a leer, just because she can.
Ransom grins at her. “We’re counting on it, bro.” He gestures to the other chair at the table. “Come sit.”
Lardo hops off the counter. Holster pushes the chair out from the table with his foot, and she takes off her shoes and sits down, drawing up her feet to sit cross-legged without getting dirt on the cushion. She glances at Holster. “Beer?”
Holster cocks a brow. “Are you requesting one, or asking if we can have them? I can get you one, but I think Shitty’d say we should be stone-cold sober if we’re talking bedroom matters--”
“Shitty’s not here,” Lardo says. “And none of us are gonna get impaired after one beer.” She makes grabby hands toward the fridge, and Holster snickers, reaching into the fridge and pulling out three beers. He twists off the tops and passes them out, then ruffles Lardo’s hair as he sits back down. She glares at him, tossing her hair back into place, then looks at Ransom, and cocks her head. “Where do we start?”
“Boring shit first,” he says. “Test results and protection.”
Lardo allows herself a moment to be exceptionally proud of her friends for being responsible sexual people. Like, goddamn. She tries to imagine one of the Chads on the lax team talking STI tests before diving into bed with someone, and has to resist the urge to cringe. “I got tested at the start of the semester at the health center,” she says. “Nothing turned up and I’ve only had one partner since then, who’s also tested clear.”
Holster nods, sipping his beer. “Cool,” he says. “The health center peeps are chill about that stuff. We went...what, Rans, like, six weeks ago?” Ransom’s eyes gaze tilts briefly right, as if he’s remembering, and then he nods as well. “Also all clear.”
Lardo lowers her beer bottle. “And no hookups since then?” she asks, a little skeptically.
Holster shrugs. “I’ve had two that were just hand stuff,” he says, wiggling his fingers meaningfully. Lardo rolls her eyes.
“Three,” Ransom says. “Well, four, but two were a repeat, so three people. But we talked test results, they all said all clear, and we used condoms.” He looks at Lardo. “Speaking of condoms,” he says, and trails off meaningfully.
He is not subtle. Lardo grins around her beer bottle and doesn’t chirp him for it. “Condoms for penetration are non-negotiable,” she says, and they both nod like they would have said that anyway. “For oral--” She shrugs. “I’ll take them or leave them. Not a big fan of the taste of latex, honestly, but it’s whatever you guys are comfortable with.”
“I have never in my life met a dude who would rather get a blowjob with a condom than without one, unless they’re cautious as fuck,” Holster says, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out under the table. “That would be like, ‘hey, do you want to eat this delicious pie? Okay but first take off all your taste buds.’ I mean. Damn.”
Ransom clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, looking pointedly at Holster, who rolls his eyes. “Now that the boring stuff is out of the way, fun shit. What you like, what you don’t, what’s a hell-no.”
Lardo sits up a little straighter in her chair. There’s a note in Ransom’s voice that’s not...not quite commanding, definitely not, but firm, like however fun he thinks the conversation might be, he takes it really seriously. She feels a weird surge of affection toward him. “Who goes first?”
Ransom makes a magnanimous gesture with his beer bottle. “It’s your birthday present.”
“In that case,” she says, grinning, “you can go first.”
If she thinks she’ll make him blush, she’s wrong. Ransom just grins at her. “Chill,” he deadpans, in a voice so reminiscent of Nursey that she snorts out a laugh and Holster snickers. He leans forward, elbows on the table, beer bottle held loosely in one hand. “Right, so--likes: basically all the normal stuff. My joints are all super sensitive, touching them does--good things. I like--” He does flush a little, clearing his throat. “I like being told that I’m doing good.”
“You always do good, Rans,” Holster says quietly.
Ransom’s gaze flickers up to look at him, and he gives Holster a soft, dopey sort of smile.
Huh, Lardo thinks. That’s interesting.
“Uh, dislikes,” Ransom continues. “Not that many. I took a puck to my right pec my sophomore year of high school and since then I’ve had basically no feeling in that nipple, so it does pretty much nothing for me. And I don’t like having pressure on my neck. Mouths are fine, teeth are fine, but no hands.” He shrugs. “That’s about it.”
Holster narrows his eyes. “Rans.” Ransom glances at him. So does Lardo. Holster’s usually genial face is firm and intense, like it is in a game, but somehow different. “Tell her about the other thing.”
Ransom swallows, takes a breath. “Right,” he says. “Limit. Uh--I need to see what’s going on. If you’re behind me and touching me, I need you to be telling me what you’re going to do next. And I don’t--I don’t like to be pinned or held down. A little pressure is okay, but not--not held down. It makes me feel like I’m not in control and my anxiety goes haywire.”
There’s an embarrassed tone in his voice, and he’s looking at the table, not at her. Lardo had been about to joke that anyone her size trying to hold someone Ransom’s size down had about a chance in hell, but she sneaks a look at Holster, and his expression is an echo of what she’d seen when Bitty had told them about the boys who had locked him in a closet overnight, of what she’d seen when Nursey talks about the guys at Andover who would fuck him on Sunday nights and kick him into lockers on Monday mornings, and the joke dies in her throat. She feels a curl of uncertainty in her own belly, and tamps it down.
She forgets, sometimes, because of the yelling and the drinking and the hugeness of her boys, that there’s something soft and vulnerable in all of them. That they haven’t always been big and loud and in control.
“Rans,” Lardo says carefully. She waits for Ransom to lift his eyes and look at her, and smiles at him, holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers pointedly. He slips his hand into hers, his broad palm totally dwarfing hers. She squeezes her fingers around his. “Thank you for telling me.”
He smiles at her. “Rules of consent, right?” he says. He squeezes her hand back, then rolls his shoulders and lets her go. She bites her lip, and his face softens. “Nothing happened to me,” he says gently, answering the question she’s afraid to ask. “It’s just an anxiety thing. There’s a line between feeling held and feeling trapped, you know?”
Relieved, she nods. Ransom drops a casual kiss to her knuckles. “So,” he says, just a bit too loudly, like he really wants the attention off him, “Who’s next?”
“I’ll go, since I’m easy.” She pauses and waits to be chirped for that, but Holster just waggles his eyebrows over his beer and Ransom just grins at her. “I like firm touches--light ones make me ticklish and when I get tickled I tend to kick people in the face.”
“I remember,” Holster says mournfully, probably remembering the Bloody Nose Incident of 2013.
Lardo grins at him. “Good,” she says “Anyway. I like--my thing is feeling really surrounded. Lots of touch, lots of contact points. My nipples are sensitive, so that’s definitely a go area, but I don’t like having them pinched. I can come more than once, and more than once in a row from penetration, but my clit’ll get really over-sensitive after a clitoral orgasm so if I come like that, leave it alone for awhile.”
They both nod. Ransom has the calculating look he gets when he’s running through plays on the ice, and Lardo is one hundred percent sure he’s figuring out all the ways he can make her come. Warm arousal starts to settle low in her belly, and she runs her thumb through the condensation on her beer bottle to cool down.
“Dislikes,” she continues. “I don’t like having my head held down if I’m giving a blowjob. Hands in my hair is fine, but I don’t like pressure. I don’t like it if I tell you I’m gonna come and then you switch up whatever you’re doing, unless you’re doing some intentional edging stuff. Also: I am aware that I’m small. I don’t like having it pointed out to me in bed. It’s super annoying, and will just piss me off.”
“You are twenty pounds of badass in a five pound bag,” Ransom says sagely. “And should be worshipped accordingly.”
She salutes him with her beer. “Fair assessment,” she allows. “Limits are pretty firm--I don’t like anything with impact. Slapping, spanking, anything like that. I like being pushed, but I don’t like pain. Derogatory language is an absolute no.” She takes a sip of her beer. “Cool?”
“Cool,” Holster says. “How do you feel about endearments?”
Lardo thinks about that. “Nothing infantilizing,” she decides. “Doll, pet, shit like that. Baby, sweetheart...those are okay, in moderation. I’ll stop you if I don’t like something.”
“Swawesome,” Holster says. “Me?” Lardo tips her bottle in permission, and he shifts forward in his chair. “I like pretty much everything,” he says. “I like using my mouth. I like--I like making other people feel good, seeing their reactions. That does a lot for me. My ears, neck and shoulders are a total hot zone, so that’ll turn me into a mess--I already regret telling you that.”
Lardo grins, showing all her teeth, and Holster rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna stop there before I give away all my secrets. Uh, dislikes--I haven’t really found anything that’s a dislike that doesn’t go all the way into a limit. I’m either game for it or it’s a hell no, I guess? I don’t do any kind of real pain stuff. Like, I’ll bite, or shit like that? But not anything, like…” He makes a whipping motion with one hand and shakes his head. “No. But that seems like it works in with you pretty well. And I don’t like humiliation shit. I won’t tell people they’re doing bad if they’re not.” He thinks for a moment, then shrugs again. “That’s it, I think.”
Ransom clears his throat pointedly. Holster looks at him. Ransom raises his eyebrows. “What?” Holster complains.
Holster huffs a sigh. “That’s not one of the categories,” he whines, but he looks at Lardo anyway. “It has been suggested,” he says, “that I am...talkative. In bed.” Ransom snorts into his beer, and Holster flips him off without looking at him. “So I guess that might fall into the mouth...thing?”
“What he means,” Ransom says, “is that he will talk your damn ear off, and the only way to shut him up is to sit on his face.” He pauses, his expression thoughtful. “Or put a dick in his mouth, I guess. That would probably be just as effective.”
Holster doesn’t look particularly upset at either prospect. “Probably,” he agrees, and then, a little uncertainly. “Uh. Is that okay?”
Lardo tilts her head to one side, contemplating. “The sitting on your face part, or the talking in bed part?”
She asks it mostly just to fuck with him, and it works: Holster chokes on the sip of beer he’d taken, and, coughing, holds up two fingers.
“Well, it depends,” she says, sitting back in her chair once Holster catches his breath. “If we’re talking about the kind of dirty talk where it’s like, ‘fuck yeah, bitch, take my cock, you’re such a slut for it--’”
Holster looks vaguely horrified at the prospect, and Ransom just looks grossed out.
“Yeah,” Lardo says. God, she’s got great taste in friends. “I kind of thought not. On the other hand, if it’s more along the lines of, ‘you look so good like this, so fucking amazing, I could watch you all day--’”
Holster makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Ransom glances at him. “Really, dude?” he says, his voice an amused mix of exasperation and fondness.
Lardo looks at him. “What?”
“I literally just heard him get hard.”
Holster flushes, but levels a finger at him. “Rude,” he says. “Kink-shaming.”
“I’m not kink-shaming,” Ransom says, but he’s grinning, playful and bright. “I’m shaming your hair-trigger dick--”
“Boys,” Lardo says, and they both look at her. Despite the bickering, there’s laughter on their faces, and she loves that this doesn’t feel weird, that this feels good, comfortable, fun. “If there’s nothing else?”
She trails off meaningfully. Holster swallows visibly, his throat working. “There’s one more thing,” he says, his voice a little hoarse now. “You said no kissing in the Haus. We weren’t sure if that was because it was the Haus, or if that was a thing with you and Shitty, or...or what. But is kissing on the table now?”
Lardo tries to imagine sex without kissing, and her mind goes absolutely blank. It just doesn’t compute. “Kissing,” she says, “is absolutely on the table.” She pauses. “But not this table,” she says, tapping a finger on the table they’re sitting around. “I think we might eat on it sometime this weekend.”
Ransom grins. “Fair,” he says. He shoves his beer bottle away and pushes his chair away from the table, patting his lap. “C’mere, Lards.”
It should be cheesy, like a line, but it works for him, and Lardo laughs, putting her bottle down. She gets out of her chair and slips into Ransom’s lap, her knees on either side of his hips, and with what looks like no effort at all, he puts his hands on her hips and tugs her closer. It makes the breath catch in her lungs, and his lips twitch up into an smirk. Lardo shakes her head to knock her hair out of her face. “We should start kissing now,” she tells him, all calm, all collected. “Cool?”
“Cool,” Ransom agrees, and kisses her before she can say anything else.
He’s a good kisser, which isn’t a surprise--she’s never seen a single hookup leave the attic looking anything less than totally fucking satisfied. What is surprising is how gentle he is. He keeps it light, doesn’t just dive into her mouth, and at first Lardo thinks he’s totally giving her the reins.
Then she realizes that his grip on her hips is still there, rock-solid, his fingers splayed wide enough to reach from the base of her hips to the band of her bra. The only control he’s given her is the depth of the kiss.
The realization that she’s held in place sends a jolt down her spine and she bites down on Ransom’s lower lip, hard. He lets out a startled groan and she uses the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, and he digs his fingertips into her sides.
“Jesus fuck,” Holster says from somewhere next to them, his voice low and hoarse. Lardo jumps, just a little, she’d almost forgotten he was there. “You two look so good right now I can’t even--fuck, Rans, your hands. Pull her closer again, she liked that, just--”
Lardo doesn’t even have time to brace herself before Ransom is curving his hands around her waist and lifting her up to bring her hips closer to his, and her choked whimper of surprise gets lost somewhere in his mouth. She brings her hands up over his arms, curling them around his biceps and squeezing, and rakes her nails down Ransom’s arms. He makes a strangled sound into her mouth, and next to them, Holster exhales a long groan. “That is so gorgeous,” he breathes. “So good, Lards. Running the fucking show.”
She pulls away from Ransom with a soft laugh. “You were right,” she tells Ransom. “He is fucking chatty.”
Ransom grins. His lower lip is red where she’d bitten it. “He’ll shut up if you kiss him,” he says, a little breathless.
“Yeah?” Lardo asks, grinning. She turns halfway to Holster to chirp him, but he’s grinning right back, sliding one huge hand into her hair and cupping the other around the nape of her neck, tilting her head back to bring his lips down to hers.
Holster kisses dirty, all lips and tongue and teeth. It’s wet but not sloppy--he’s all finesse, all promise, all toe-curling hints at what his mouth might do later. He takes back all the control Ransom had given her, and Lardo finds she’s not sorry to let it go. She feels almost light-headed, leaning into the kiss, Ransom’s grip on her hips holding her steady, and she drops one hand down to wrap it around his wrist, clinging to it like a lifeline.
She actually sways forward when Holster pulls back, and he chuckles, a low rumble in his throat, running his thumb over the pulse at her throat. “Kissed out is a good fucking look on you, Lards,” he says.
Lardo grins at him through what feel like swollen lips. “You should see me fucked out.”
Holster’s pupils blow out. “Plan to,” he says, teeth flashing. He shifts his gaze away from hers, over to Ransom, who’s watching the two of them with wide eyes. “Good, Rans?”
“Really good,” Ransom says. He licks his bottom lip, and Lardo squeezes her fingers tighter around his wrist. His breath hitches. Lardo smiles, bends forward to kiss his cheekbone, and digs her nails into the delicate skin above his pulse.
This time, something between a whimper and a groan catches in Ransom’s throat. “Oh, that is pretty,” Holster says, almost a purr, his fingers trailing over Lardo’s spine. She shivers a little under the touch. She wants a lot more of it. “Whatever you just did, do it again, Lards. I wanna hear more of that.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, and does it again. Ransom hisses and jerks forward, bringing her hips in contact with the hard ridge of his dick in his jeans, and Lardo grins against his cheek. “Good?”
“Good,” he rasps, and turns his head, nudging his nose against her jaw. “Do it harder?”
Lardo raises her eyebrows, but slides her other hand down as well, and digs her nails in, hard. Ransom actually whines.
“Goddamn,” Holster breathes, “That is so fucking--”
Lardo’s about to tell him to just fucking kiss him already, because like hell is she going to let them pull any kind of no homo shit in a two-man threesome--not that she thinks they would, but it’s the principle of the thing--but before she can, he leans past her and cups Ransom’s jaw in his hand, slotting their mouths together.
It is not, Lardo realizes instantly, a we hook up in threesomes kind of kiss.
It’s deep and slow and practiced, the kind of kiss that Lardo’s definitely shared with Shitty, easy and familiar. It’s also, from where she’s sitting, pretty fucking filthy, and Ransom takes one hand off Lardo’s hip to wrap it around Holster’s forearm, fingers digging in. Holster pulls back just enough to bite down on Ransom’s lower lip, tugging it into his mouth, and then drags him close again.
Lardo traces her nails along the insides of Ransom’s wrists, watching them kiss. She waits until Holster’s sucked Ransom’s lower lip back into his mouth, and then digs her nails back into his wrists as hard as she can.
Ransom snaps his head back. “Jesus fucking shit,” he says, looking at her, pupils blown wide. “Lardo.”
Holster snickers, dropping his head into the space where Ransom’s shoulder meets his neck. “I think she found you a new thing, Rans.”
Lardo scrapes her nails casually along his wrists, dipping into the divots she's already made in his skin, and Ransom hisses through his teeth. “It’s new?” she asks, curious. Ransom whines up at her, and she laughs, taking her hands away from his wrists and drawing them up to his biceps instead, squeezing. “I definitely think it’s a thing, Holtzy.”
“Lards,” Ransom says, and then he shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear it, and leans in to kiss her again. His lips are warmer and wetter than they were before, and she wonders if the bottom one is hurting him yet from where both she and Holster were biting it. His hands leave her waist and move up, firm along her sides until his thumbs meet the underside of her breasts, and he squeezes, just barely, more pressure than grope.
It still sends sparks flying down her spine, and she leans into his hands. “Do that again,” she mumbles, and he laughs against her mouth, flicking his thumbs over her nipples. Holster moves behind her, his hands taking over Ransom’s abandoned spot on her hips and curving just over her ass, dipping his thumbs into the divots of her hipbones, and she swears. “That’s not fair,” she says, but it’s weak. “Two against one.”
Holster kisses the back of her neck. “Welcome to threesomes,” he says, scraping his teeth lightly over the skin at the top of her spine and then leaning around to nip at her jaw. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, and bites her lip when Ransom flicks her nipple again and then drops his hand to the hem of her shirt, cocking an eyebrow.
In answer, because words are stupid, Lardo pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it onto the floor, and totally elbows Holster in the face when she reaches back to get her bra unhooked. He makes a complaining sound at the impact, which resolves into a pleased hum when Ransom immediately leans forward to wrap his mouth around one of her nipples. “Fuck,” she breathes, and Ransom glances up at her through his eyelashes, eyes crinkling around the corners as he curls his tongue over her nipple. “Fuck.”
“Nice,” Holster says, half-muffled into her skin. One of his hands trails down, just brushing the inseam of her jeans, and Lardo tilts her hips to try and force his hand between her legs. He laughs into her neck, and the vibrations send curls of warmth over her skin, already humming with a tense energy that’s spiraling down through her core. Ransom sucks a little harder, his mouth warm and hot at her breast, and she doesn’t bother to muffle her moan.
“There it is,” Holster says, voice rough, and she shudders as Ransom’s teeth scrape lightly over her nipple. “That’s it, sweetheart, fucking gorgeous. Could you come like this?”
Lardo shakes her head. She feels good, she feels awesome, but she’s not quite--“I need something--” she manages, and Holster, fucking bless him, gets it before she finishes her sentence, dipping his hand between her legs and curling it under her pelvis, the heel of his palm hard against her clit. She groans. “Yeah, that.”
“Good.” Holster kisses her neck. “And you can come again, yeah?”
She nods, closing her eyes, rolling her hips forward. She doesn’t know what Ransom’s doing with his tongue, but fuck, fuck, it is working for her.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Then you come for us, and then we’ll go upstairs, because I cannot fucking wait to get my mouth between your legs and make you come on my face, and then you can watch me make Ransom come because it is so fucking pretty, and then I wanna get my tongue back on you and in you and--”
“Fucking fuck,” Lardo manages, and comes, hard, dropping her head down and biting Ransom’s shoulder because it’s the closest thing she can sink her teeth into. It’s a mouthful of the fabric of his t-shirt, not his skin, but he groans around her nipple all the same. The orgasm is the quick, desperate jerking kind that rushes through her like a wave and leaves her gasping for more, and when Holster squeezes her inner thigh, she whimpers, torn between jerking her hips closer to his fingers and pulling away at the sensitivity. “Holtzy, fuck.”
“If you want,” he says, easily, and Ransom takes his mouth off her to laugh.
“No game, Holtz, damn,” he says. Lardo looks down at him, and his eyes are bright, his mouth red and glistening. She touches his bottom lip, and he bites at her fingertip with a wink. “Hi.”
Lardo hums a little, content. There’s a wet patch from her mouth on the shoulder of his shirt. She has no intention of apologizing for that. “Hi,” she says, and rolls her hips a little, grinding down against him.
Ransom sucks in a breath, closing his eyes, and Holster’s grip on her hips tightens, holding her still. “Easy, tiger,” he says. “Don’t make him come, I got plans for that dick.”
“Got plans for your dick,” Ransom mumbles, and Lardo laughs. He cracks one eye open. “What’re you laughing at?”
“Just that someone was chirping him for a hair trigger, earlier,” Lardo says, idly, scratching her nails over his short hair. “And it just seems a little ironic--”
“Yeah, well.” Ransom sniffs. “Homeboy’s wandering around free-dicking it and you just came in my lap, so I think I’m allowed to be a little ahead of the game, alright?” Holster must be making a face behind her, because Ransom flips him off, and then looks back at Lardo. “So,” he says. “Upstairs?”
Lardo thinks, briefly, about just getting his pants off and riding him on this chair. She’s about eighty percent sure that’d work for Holster’s totally fucking obvious voyeurism kink. But she doesn’t want to totally wear herself out for later--and she really wants there to still be a later--so she grins, leans down to kiss his nose, and says “yeah, upstairs.”
“Nice,” Ransom says. “Cool if I just, uh, bring you?”
“Yeah,” Lardo says, draping her arms over his shoulders. He grins, wrapping one arm around her waist and climbing to his feet, lifting her like she weighs nothing--which, let’s be real, he lifts more than twice her bodyweight on a daily basis, so she probably does. She wraps her legs around his waist. “Onward, noble steed.”
Ransom snorts. “I’m not making a joke about you riding me, and I legit think I should get an award for that,” he says. He glances at Holster. “Coming, bro?”
“Hopefully not yet,” Lardo says, eyeing the prominent bulge in Holster’s jeans. He follows her gaze, winks at her, and reaches down to adjust himself. “Very nice, Birkholtz,” she teases.
“Baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he drawls.
“What even is that accent, bro, you are from Buffalo,” Ransom says, shaking his head and heading for the stairs.
“I am a theatrical master, okay,” Holster calls. Lardo looks over Ransom’s shoulder, but he’s not following them; he’s gone back into the living room. He appears a moment later, though, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “I practice accents on a regular basis.”
“You sound like Bitty.”
Lardo makes a face. “No,” she says. “Nope, no, nope, I’m sorry, we cannot talk about Bitty during this threesome, I will not allow it. Lady boner killer, he’s my best friend.”
“Nope right back,” Holster retorts, but he’s grinning. “Bitty’s allowed to get laid, too, even if he is our tiny ray of Southern sunshine.”
“Pretty sure those nopes cancel each other out,” Ransom says, hitting the landing. He peers around. “Which of these looks like the master?”
Lardo looks over her shoulder, and spots the king-sized bed she’d seen in the pictures. “That one,” she says, pointing.
Ransom hitches her hips a little higher on his--he’s still carrying her with one arm, this is the single best decision she has ever made, she’s buying Shitty so much gratitude weed--and heads for the room. It’s nicer in person than it was in the pictures, all natural light and large, plush-looking pillows on the bed. “Yeah, this was definitely the right call,” he says. “This is way better than trying to pull this shit off on our bunk beds, Holtzy.”
“Fucking right,” Holster says. He drops his bag and starts pulling blankets off the bed, stripping it down to just the fitted sheet and the pillows, then gives a nod of satisfaction. “There we go,” he says. “Toss her down, Rans, I’ve got work to do.”
“Wait, what?” Lardo begins, but Ransom’s already letting go of his hold on her waist, dropping her down onto the bed. She tightens her grip around his shoulders and waist to try and bring him down with her, but only succeeds in hanging off him like some kind of half-dressed spider-monkey. “Huh,” she says. “This went better in my head.”
“Yeah, the weight ratios didn’t really work out for you, bro,” Holster says sagely. He plops down on the bed and reaches up to unwrap her legs from around Ransom’s waist, tugging her down into his arms. Lardo lets him, landing mostly on his chest, and he pushes her hair aside so he can kiss the side of her neck. “This is cool, right?” he mumbles. “The whole man-handling thing?”
She tilts her head to give him more access. “It’s good,” she says, and means it. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” Ransom sits on the edge of the bed, propping one of her feet in his lap and untying her shoelaces, easing her shoe off and tossing it to the floor. “What do you like about it?”
Lardo shrugs, watching him start on her other shoe. “It makes me feel…” She searches for the right words, letting him slide her socks off. “Held, I guess? I like the pressure. The intensity.”
Ransom nods. “I can get that.” Lardo curls her toes into the hem of his t-shirt and tugs, and he laughs, pulling it over his head. Holster wolf-whistles, and Ransom balls up the shirt and lobs it at his face. Holster catches it easily, snickering, and Ransom rolls his eyes, looking back at Lardo. “Kind of hard to come by at six-two, though, y’know?”
“I got your back, bro,” Holster says, and Lardo tilts her head back to see him give Ransom a loose, almost dopey smile. “You gonna just sit up there, or what?”
Ransom actually looks like he might be pretending to think about it, so Lardo wraps her legs around his waist again, pulling at him. He grins, bending forward--he doesn’t even pretend that she pulled him, what a dick--and kisses her, slow and easy. She’s still mostly sprawled in Holster’s lap, and she reaches back to run a hand through his hair. He makes a pleased sound, kissing her neck and reaching down to thumb her nipple.
It’s a rough touch that makes her breath catch, and Holster laughs against her skin. “Like that?”
She bites Ransom’s lip again, just because she can. “Yeah, just--not always the same thing?”
He hums an acknowledgment, kissing the hollow just behind her ear, then shifts up onto his elbows. “Rans, switch?”
“Good luck, bro, she bites,” Ransom says, but he moves back, dropping a kiss to Lardo’s collarbone as he does.
“Didn’t see you complaining,” Lardo chirps, sitting up so Holster can get out from under her.
“He won’t,” Holster says, leaning down to kiss her lower belly. “He likes it.”
Lardo tilts her head back to look at Ransom as he pulls her into his lap, her back to his chest. “You didn’t mention that in the likes talk.”
“It wasn’t--” He ducks her head against her shoulder. “It’s not, like, a thing, I just...like a little sharp sometimes.”
Lardo closes her eyes. Holster’s running a trail with his mouth along her sides, up to her breasts but never quite reaching them, and it’s making her nerves spark and glow. “And that balances out with your praise kink?”
Holster snickers into her skin, and Ransom sputters, lifting his head. “I don’t--I don’t have a praise kink!”
“Bro,” Holster says skeptically, at the same time that Lardo, who has only been sexual with Ransom for about fifteen minutes, bursts out laughing.
“What?” Ransom insists, sounding almost affronted. “I don’t! I just like positive feedback! That’s a normal thing!”
“Oh, Ransom. Rans, my dude.” Lardo shakes her head. She rolls, gently dislodging Holster’s mouth so that she can straddle Ransom’s hips, bending down to kiss his cheek lightly, fondly. He looks up at her in suspicious confusion so she kisses him again, a little more firmly, and he just about melts into it, letting her take over, his mouth opening softly under hers. She puts her hands on his arms but remembers at the last moment what he’d said about being held down, so she doesn’t put her weight on them, just uses her thighs to hold herself steady as she moves over to whisper in his ear.
“I loved kissing you downstairs,” she murmurs. “You were so good, letting me take control like that. Giving me what I wanted.”
Behind her, Holster sucks in a startled breath, and Ransom swallows audibly, his eyes wide as he looks up at her. Lardo kisses his jaw, and he groans, eyes fluttering closed. “And you’re so strong, but you hold back all that strength and only use it when we ask you to--and it was so hot when you did, holding me while Holtzy made me come, and your mouth was so hot.”
He stretches his mouth up to hers and she kisses him again, just briefly, before pulling back, and he tries to follow her when she draws away. “And you could throw me off now, but you’re not. I can feel how much fucking power you’ve got in your muscles right now, Rans, it’s fucking incredible. I love how strong you are, how much control you have. And you’re giving it all to me. It’s so hot.”
She scrapes her teeth against his jaw, and feels his dick twitch in his jeans. The sound he makes borders on a whimper. Lardo draws back with a grin. “Yeah, bro,” she says, allowing herself a mental pat on the back and giving him a literal one on the chest. “I’d call that a praise kink.”
Ransom’s eyes are closed, and he takes a few steadying breaths, his hands flexing against the sheet. “Holtzy,” he says, hoarsely.
Holster rests his head on Lardo’s shoulder. “Yeah, bro.”
“Please avenge my chill by eating her the fuck out until she screams.”
Lardo pauses. “Wait,” she says. “What--”
But Holster’s way faster and stronger than she is, and she’s on her back before she knows what’s hit her, Holster mouthing contentedly along the bottom swell of her breasts and grinning up at her when she glares at him. “Sorry, birthday girl,” he says, not looking sorry at all. “Duderuses before uteruses.”
“Misters before sisters,” Ransom says, seeming to get some of his composure back.
Lardo rolls her eyes. “If you two are gonna start quoting Parks and Rec at each other, I’m calling this threesome off.”
“Can’t have that,” Ransom says, grinning and tugging gently at her hair.
She bats at his hand and squints at him. “How are you still wearing pants?”
He shrugs. “Everyone’s still wearing pants.”
“Well, that’s a fucking travesty,” Holster declares. He pulls his shirt over his head and stands to shuck off his jeans, and Lardo whistles at him. His boxers are tented in the front but he leaves them on, palming himself once through the fabric and winking at her before kneeling down again, nuzzling at the front of Lardo’s jeans. “Can I take these off?”
Lardo snorts. “You’re asking?”
“All about that affirmative consent, bro,” Holster says, and Lardo reaches down to undo the button herself before he starts singing Meghan Trainor. Holster grins like he knows what she’s thinking and curls his fingers into her waistband, pulling her jeans down over her hips and off. He drops them off the bed and settles back between her legs, and Lardo swallows. With only her underwear between his face and her skin, this suddenly feels a lot more intense.
As if sensing her feeling, Holster turns his head kissing the top of her thigh--bare skin, but less scary--and looks up at her. “Gonna leave these on for a while,” he says, “till you tell me to take them off you. Cool?”
Mouth dry, heart pounding with anticipation. Holster’s lips twitch up into another grin, and then he looks at Ransom. “Bro,” he says, “Pants. Get with the program.”
Lardo glances back, in time to see Ransom give himself a little shake, like he’d been too busy watching her and Holster to really pay attention to do anything else. He flashes a half-embarrassed smile and rolls to his feet to get out of his jeans, climbing back onto the bed in a pair of black boxer-briefs that leave approximately nothing to the imagination. He stretches out next to Lardo, definitely catches her leering at him, and grins. “Like what you see, Lards?”
“Fuck, yes,” she says. She reaches out and touches her fingertips to his hipbone, feather-light. “You’re totally beautiful, Rans.”
Ransom’s grin melts as he closes his eyes, turning his face into the bed with a soft moan, his hips moving slightly against her fingers. Holster chuckles into Lardo’s thigh, his breath warm and wet against her skin, and Lardo shivers a bit. “She’s got your number now, Rans.”
Lardo grins at that, but it falls off her face as Holster turns his face back into her thigh and opens his mouth, running his tongue along the edge of her underwear. It’s warm and wet and she shivers, even though all he’s really doing is trailing kisses kisses over her skin.
All the same, Holster glances up at her. “You okay?” he asks, voice low. She nods, flexing her fingers on the sheet, and he raises an eyebrow. “You want me to stop?” She shakes her head. A slow smile curves over his lips. “You want more?”
Lardo licks her lips and swallows. “Yeah.”
He grins and bends his head, pressing slick, open-mouthed kisses over her hips and down into the crease of her inner thigh. It makes her breath hitch and her hips cant up, and Holster curves his hands over her thighs, spreading her legs but keeping her still. The next sound that comes out of her mouth is a whimper, and he groans against her in response, the sound vibrating against her skin.
“Fuck,” Ransom murmurs, almost reverent, shifting closer to her so he can rest one hand against her ribs. “The two of you, holy shit.” He kisses her shoulder and Lardo turns her head to catch his mouth, reaching out to cup his face between her hands. It’s an awkward angle, her on her back and him on his side, but the kiss makes up for it, and it grounds her, keeps her from totally losing it at what Holster’s doing between her legs.
And then Holster abandons his teasing and presses the flat of his tongue right where she’s been shifting her hips restlessly to try and guide him, hot, firm pressure against already-damp fabric, and Lardo tears her mouth away from Ransom’s. “Fuck.”
Holster looks up at her through his lashes, like he might move away, and Lardo reaches down with puts her fingers in his hair, holding him in place. He closes his eyes and moans, mouthing at her in long, slow strokes until she arches against him and grits out, “Fuck, Holster, just take them off.”
He moves like she’s kicked at him, grabbing the waistband of her underwear and pulling. She lifts her hips to help him and he peels them off her, tossing them away without looking and then pressing his mouth between her legs again.
The feeling of his tongue on her without a barrier makes her yelp, and only the firm grip of his hands on her hips keep her from bucking up hard enough to break his nose. “Fuck fuck oh my god,” she chokes, digging one hand into his hair and the other into Ransom’s shoulder. Ransom hisses a little, and she realizes a little belatedly that she’s pressing in with her nails, but she’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind, so she doesn’t let up.
Sleeping with Shitty on a regular basis has given her a pretty good benchmark for what a guy means when he says he likes using his mouth in bed, and she’s been pretty well satisfied in that department. But Holster, apparently, eats pussy like it is his fucking job and he’s damn glad to be showing up to work. He’s methodical and enthusiastic, using his tongue and lips in tandem, teasing around her lips and clit, easy pressure and firm strokes.
When she whimpers and tries--fails--to shift her hips closer to him, he teases her with a finger until she whines at him, and she’s so wet he slips it in like it’s nothing, even though his hands are fucking huge. He gets so deep that stars explode behind her eyes and she drops her head back, and Ransom’s there in an instant, covering her mouth with his, swiping one thumb over one nipple.
It sends a shock straight down to her clit, and she’s pretty sure she squeaks into Ransom’s mouth. He chuckles against her lips, gentling the touch to run firm circles over her areola. She arches her back, trying to get closer to both his touch and Holster’s, and he pulls gently away.
“Holtz,” he says, and for a second she’s worried he’ll stop touching her, she needs him to keep touching her, she needs both of them to keep touching her-- “Holtzy, stop playing. You can eat her out again later. Let her come.”
Lardo has time, wildly, to think Let me? before Holster is moving, pressing his tongue into her beside his finger, swiping up and in and deep, and she loses it, everything in her spiraling tight and hot and then exploding out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god, oh my god--fuck--” Her voice breaks, and she gives up on words, muffling her wordless moan in Ransom’s shoulder as she shakes apart.
It takes her a long time to catch her breath, and when she does, she still feels a little dizzy when she lifts her head from Ransom’s arm. “Holy shit,” she says. “Holster. Dude.”
He beams up at her from where he’s still kneeling on the floor, his chin resting on her hip. The entire lower half of his face is wet and shining, and he looks delighted with himself. “You’re amazing,” he says, grinning. “God, Lards, you’re fucking incredible, the way you sounded, the way you tasted, fuck, I could’ve done that all night, for hours, you felt so good on my mouth, I--”
Lardo reaches down and tugs on his shoulders, and he climbs up onto the bed to kiss her messily. She can taste herself in his mouth, and he’s huge and heavy above her, even though he’s bracketing himself on his forearms, none of his weight on her. She lifts her hips up enough to press against the weight of his dick in his boxers, and he pulls away from her mouth, breathing hard against her neck. “Shit,” he pants. “Fuck--gimme a sec, Lards, or I’m gonna come.”
It surprises her a little. “You’re that close? Just from--” He makes a slightly embarrassed whine against her skin, and she kisses his cheek. “No, it’s okay, fuck. It’s hot.” She turns her head to kiss his neck, and he shudders, pressing his face harder into the crook between her neck and shoulder. “What do you want, Holtz?”
“I don’t--” His breath hitches as she sucks his earlobe into her mouth, and he breaks off. Ransom moves, sitting up to smooth one hand over the planes of Holster’s back, and Holster arches his back into the touch. “Fuck, I don’t care. Your hand--both of you?”
“Yeah,” Lardo murmurs, and Ransom’s already moving, rolling off the bed to crouch down next to Holster’s duffle, rummaging around in it. She coaxes Holster back into a kiss, and he responds eagerly, one of his hands curling around her hip, gentle but firm, and she can feel the barely-restrained strength in his grip.
The bed next to her dips down, and she breaks her mouth away from Holster’s to see Ransom settling beside them, a bottle of lube in his hand. He flashes a grin and then bends to kiss Holster’s shoulder, then the nape of his neck, and Holster groans, raising his face to catch Ransom’s lips in a kiss that looks a lot dirtier than the one she’d just shared with him.
Holster moans a little into it, leaning forward until he’s almost off balance, and Ransom laughs softly, pulling away and dropping a much lighter kiss to Holster’s cheek.
“Take these off,” he says, tugging at the waistband of Holster’s boxers, and Holster sits back on his knees to comply.
Lardo gives herself a moment to stare when his dick springs free, because holy shit, she knew he was hung, but it’s something else to actually see it.
Holster drops his boxers to the floor and then glances at her. “Lards? You good?”
“You have a beautiful dick,” she says, because it’s true.
He grins. “Thanks.”
She gestures toward the lube Ransom’s holding. “Can I…”
Holster swallows visibly. “Shit. Yeah, please.”
Lardo grins. “Yeah, good,” she says. “Come on, get on your back.”
Ransom gives him a gentle, playful shove, and Holster swats at him with a grin, flopping down on the bed and then scooting back until he can drop his head on the pillows. Lardo curls along his side, trailing her fingers over his waist and hip, watching out of the corner of her eye as Ransom settles down on Holster’s other side. She catches his eye and cocks an eyebrow, and he flashes a quick smile, mirroring her light, teasing touches.
Holster makes a frustrated sound, hitching his hips up. “Teasing motherfuckers. I will jerk myself off, I swear to god.”
Ransom curls a his thumb and forefinger around the base of Holster’s dick and squeezes, and Holster bites off a groan. “No, you won’t.”
“No, I won’t,” Holster says, a little weakly. “Rans, fuck, c’mon, man.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ransom says, like it’s a hardship, but he’s grinning, and he pops the cap on the lube, pouring some into his hand and then passing it to Lardo. “You wanna go high or low?”
Lardo rubs the lube between her hands to warm it and then drops the bottle to the bed, wrapping one hand around the head of Holster’s dick. “I’ll go high,” she says. She bends and kisses Holster’s shoulder. “What do you like, bro?”
“Fucking--anything,” he says, closing his eyes. She squeezes her hand pointedly, and he groans, then lets out a shaky breath. “Just--anything.”
“So easy,” Ransom says, but it’s fond, and he drops a kiss to Holster’s jaw, moving his hand down and curving his fingers around his balls. Lardo can’t really see what his fingers are doing but whatever it is makes Holster’s hips jump, and Ransom hums, trailing his mouth along Holster’s neck.
“I like it,” Lardo says, smiling as she strokes her hand down, the lube smoothing the way as she starts up a steady, even rhythm. Holster’s breath hitches. “It’s sweet. You’re sweet, right, Holtzy?”
“I can be sweet,” he says, voice strained. She squeezes her hand and twists her wrist on her next stroke, and he moans, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. “Fuck, that’s so good. Rans, your hands, holy shit, you’re so fucking good, babe, I love it--”
Ransom’s breathing goes a little uneven at that, and Lardo grins into Holster’s shoulder, but Holster doesn’t stop talking, his words speeding up and jumbling together. “Lardo you’re so good at this, oh my god, a little tighter, sweetheart, I just need a little--” She tightens her grip and his breath catches on a whine, his back arching. “Shit, yeah. I’m so close--fuck, you’re amazing, feels so good, I’m gonna come--oh, Rans, fuck--”
Lardo can’t see what Ransom did, but whatever it is, Holster’s back bows and he comes with a yell, his dick pulsing in her hand and shooting over his abs and chest. One of his hands finds its way into her hair and for a second she thinks he might pull, but he doesn’t, just curls his fingers in and holds on like he needs to be grounded as he gasps for breath. Lardo strokes him through it, slow and gentle, until he shudders, his head falling back against the sheets.
“Good?” she asks him, dropping a teasing kiss to his chest.
“Fuckin’ great.” He cracks one eye open, letting out a shaky breath before he drags his head off the pillow. “Rans,” he says weakly. “C’mere.”
Ransom gives him a look somewhere between feigned innocence and totally smug, and Holster rolls his eyes and hauls him half on top of him, grinding his hips up against Ransom’s. “You haven’t come yet,” he mumbles against Ransom’s mouth, not kissing him, just talking. He bites Ransom’s lower lip into his mouth, and Ransom gives a faint moan, jerks a little closer to him. “Not even naked yet. You wanna be?”
“Yeah,” Ransom whispers.
Lardo starts to lay a hand on his back, and then remembers what he’d said about needing to see, and shifts forward, into his line of sight, traces her fingertips over his brow and along his cheekbone instead. “What do you want, baby?”
The endearment feels a little strange in her mouth, when she’s so used to calling him bro, but he leans into it like she’s just given him the keys to the universe, closing his eyes. “I--” He swallows, bites his lip, runs his tongue along it where it’s swollen a little. “I want--Holtzy’s fingers. And to touch you.”
“Holy shit,” Lardo breathes, and Holster groans, leaning up to catch Ransom’s mouth in a kiss before pushing at his shoulders, guiding him down onto his back.
Ransom looks dazed and a little breathless when Holster pulls away, and Lardo leans down to take his place, slipping her tongue into Ransom’s mouth and swallowing his soft moan. He slides his fingers into her hair, and she reaches up to firmly take them out, gently pressing his hand back down against the bed and digging her nails into his wrists--not because she doesn’t like hands in her hair, but because of the way he’d reacted last time.
It works just as well now, and he pulls away from her with a soft whine, looking up at her with wide eyes. “So good, Rans,” she murmurs, kissing his cheekbone. “Asking for what you want. That was so perfect.”
Holster hums his agreement, peeling Ransom’s underwear over his thighs and dropping them over his shoulder without another glance. Lardo watches him bend down and lick a stripe up the underside of Ransom’s dick, and Ransom bites down on a groan, turning his head into the pillow. “Hey, don’t,” Lardo says, tapping his jaw. “I like when we can hear you.”
Ransom whimpers, either at her words or at whatever Holster’s doing, and she looks down to see him coaxing Ransom’s thighs apart, the lube abandoned again on the bed next to him. “Fuck,” she murmurs, because even though Ransom had asked for it, she’s still kind of surprised to see it, the way Holster presses a finger into him so smoothly it’s clear they’ve done this before. “Oh my god, Rans, that’s so amazing, you take that so well.”
“Yeah, you do,” Holster says, voice rough. Even though he’s just come, his pupils are blown wide. “So hot, Justin, you open up so good for me, fuck. You want another?” Ransom makes a soft sound, and Holster shakes his head. “Use your words for me, Rans.”
“Please,” Ransom says, breathless, and Holster grins.
“There you go,” he says, almost a purr, and Ransom arches his back at whatever Holster does with his hands. Ransom’s cock is hard against his abs, longer than Holster’s but not as thick and leaking everywhere, and he breathes shakily into Lardo’s neck when she traces her fingers along his foreskin.
“I’m not gonna make you come until you get Lardo off,” Holster says. “So you better ask her what she wants if you wanna come.”
Ransom opens his eyes and looks up at her through his lashes, his gaze desperate, and Lardo takes pity on him because his expression is wrecked. “Gonna ride your fingers, okay?” she says, rolling up onto her knees and forearms and taking his hand, guiding it between her legs. “I want you to make me come on your hand.”
Relief floods his face at the instruction and he tilts his head up. She bends to kiss him, then moans into his mouth as two of his fingers stroke along her slit where she’s still wet from her last orgasm, spreading the moisture around before he slips one finger into her. He goes in and curls like he’s beckoning her closer to him, and she sees stars. “Shit,” she gasps. “One more.”
He pulls his finger out and goes back in with two, curling in, and she lets herself groan, rocking her hips forward. “Oh, fuck, that’s good. That’s so good, Ransom, yeah, just like that.”
“Hear that, babe?” Holster says, and she turns her head, tossing sweaty hair out of her eyes to catch Holster’s grin. One of his hands is still moving between Ransom’s legs, the other curled over his hip, not pinning him down, just holding him. “You’re making her feel so good. Give her a little bit more, then you can come, I promise.”
“Holtz,” Ransom bites out. “I want--”
“Yeah, I got you,” Holster says, and reaches for the lube, and a moment later, Ransom chokes out a breathless cry, his fingers stuttering a little in their steady movements inside her. Lardo figures he’s up to three fingers and even though she’s pretty sure she’s going to be doing the same thing later, she spares a moment to think holy shit, and just like that, she’s right on the edge.
“I’m close,” she manages, sliding her hips into the motion of his fingers. “Rans, I need,” she’s not sure what she needs, but she needs something, his fingers feel amazing but it’s not enough--
But Ransom’s not the genius behind half the team’s game-winning plays for nothing. He makes a soft sound and tucks his thumb up against her, not directly against her clit but over the hood, rubbing in firm circles in tandem with the strokes of his fingers inside her. “Oh,” she chokes out, and actually curls forward a little, gripping his wrist to keep him at that angle. “Don’t stop, oh my god, Rans, yeah, yes, yeah--”
The orgasm hits her hard and she closes her eyes, not even sure what she says when she comes, only that it’s more than a little filthy.
She’s still panting when she opens her eyes, and another aftershock goes through her when she sees that Ransom still hasn’t come, that Holster’s still fingering him, that they’re both looking at her, as if for permission. “Fuck,” she says, a little dazed. She lifts herself off Ransom’s fingers--he makes a faint sound of loss, and she kisses it off his mouth--and drops down beside him, because her knees won’t hold her up anymore. “You waited?”
“Didn’t think you’d wanna miss it,” Holster says, flashing a cheeky grin, and Ransom whimpers, his hips jerking up against nothing, his dick twitching. No one’s even touched him, Lardo realizes, but he’s clearly right on the edge, his body trembling and taut as a bowstring. Talk about party tricks.
“So considerate,” she says, and kisses Ransom’s cheek. “You want to come, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Fuck, please.”
Lardo kisses him again, then glances at Holster. “You can do it,” she says.
Holster’s grin broadens, and he bends his head, kisses Ransom’s hip. “So fucking hot, Rans, you’ve got no idea,” he murmurs. He licks at the base of Ransom’s dick and Ransom chokes out a moan. “Come on, babe, let us see you.”
The sound Ransom makes when he comes goes right to Lardo’s clit even though she’s just come, and she watches his hips jerk almost helplessly as he shoots over his chest, hard enough that some of his come hits the bottom of his jaw. “Fuck,” Holster says, and leans over him, bending down to lick it off and then kiss him, even though Ransom’s panting too hard to really kiss him back. “Fuck, Rans, that was perfect, fucking beautiful. So fucking good.”
He turns his head and kisses Lardo next, and she threads her fingers through his hair, running her nails into the sweat-damp blond strands, and he hums into her mouth before he pulls away. “Shit,” he mumbles against her lips, a little breathless. “Fuckin’ amazing.” He leans back, looking down at Ransom. “You okay, bro?”
Ransom gives a mostly wordless whine, pulling one leg off the bed to bump Holster’s shoulder weakly with his knee, and Holster laughs. “Good talk,” he says. “Gonna pull out, okay?”
“Mmfph,” Ransom says, and Lardo laughs, because that’s the same sound he makes after Coach Hall makes the team skate suicides at morning practice, and she can’t not lean over and kiss him. He sighs into the kiss, still a little breathless, and groans a little--probably when Holster pulls his fingers free--then pulls away to drop his head back against the bed. “Fuckin’ a, dudes.”
Holster flops down on the bed next to him, and holds out the hand that’s not covered in lube, curled into a fist. Ransom bumps it with his own, and Holster offers it to Lardo. She can’t help a laugh. “Seriously?”
“What, you don’t think that was fist-bump-worthy sex?”
Lardo laughs and fist-bumps him. Now that she’s started laughing, she can’t really stop, and she pushes her face into Ransom’s shoulder, the post-endorphin giggles settling in hard.
She feels the bed shift as Ransom props himself up on his elbows. “Y’know,” he says, “I’m trying to figure out if I should be offended right now, and I cannot tell.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, picking her head up. “It’s just--you were all, ‘we’re just gonna get off, nothing fancy,’ and you literally made me come three times, and Holster fingered you, what the fuck, I didn’t even know you guys did that, I literally was just thinking we’d all jerk each other off.”
“Oh,” Ransom says. She can’t really tell with his skin tone, but she’s pretty sure he’s blushing. Holster’s definitely blushing. “Well, maybe your definition of fancy just needs work.”
“Man, just admit you got carried away,” Holster says. “You were done once she almost praised your kinky ass into creaming your boxers.” Ransom makes a sound that’s mostly indignant squawk, and Holster cackles. “That’s for making fun of my hair trigger chat kink, broski.”
Ransom rolls his eyes. He pushes Holster onto his side just so he can swat at his ass, then sits up. “Let’s go shower. Pretty sure you can’t turn up at a fancy restaurant covered in jizz.”
Holster sighs, giving Lardo a long-suffering look. “He always wants to skip cuddling,” he whines, and holds out his arms. “Do you cuddle?”
Lardo pokes his chest and rolls out of bed. “Not when there’s steak to be had,” she says. “Let’s go, Birkholtz, or we’ll make you shower by yourself.”
Negotiating a shower with three people--two of them over six feet tall--is an adventure, even the huge shower in the master bathroom. Ransom and Holster bicker back and forth about water temperature until Lardo rolls her eyes and declares herself in charge of the faucet and makes Ransom wash her hair for her. He chirps Holster about his loofah--“Fuck you, bro, we can’t all slather ourselves in cocoa butter and look like models”--while he massages shampoo into her hair, and Holster throws a bar of soap at Ransom’s face when she slips back into the spray to rinse.
Lardo shakes her head at how quickly the sexual energy between them has vanished like it never existed in the first place. She can’t quite figure out if it’s a locker room survival mechanism, or if they can actually just turn it off and on like that. Either way, it’s kind of weird.
Then again, she’s slept with them now, too. So maybe it’s a good thing that they can turn it off. She watches Ransom pull poufs of bubbles off Holster’s loofah and apply them to Holster’s face like a Santa beard, and feels about the same level of attraction to him that she does when he’s skipping over to team lunch with another “best friend sundae.”
Which is to say: approximately none.
Yeah. Situational sexual energy--she can get behind that.
They towel off and Holster brings the rest of their stuff upstairs, and Lardo does her eyeliner in the hall bathroom because the one in the master bedroom is still too steamed up from the shower. When she gets back, makeup finished but still in her bra and underwear, Ransom is buttoning Holster’s shirt for him.
“Dude,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Is that your date shirt?”
Holster’s cheeks pink. “Technically,” he allows.
“Aw, Holtzy.” She reaches up to pat his cheek. “I was already gonna put out.”
He rolls his eyes and attempts to lick her hand, and she flicks his nose with her forefinger before he can.
Ransom had only told her to pack a dress at the last minute, so she’d tossed her go-to LBD--thank you, gallery shows--into her bag, eternally thankful that her hatred of ironing made her shop for wrinkle-resistant clothes. “Rans, zip me?”
He motions her over and pulls the zipper up her back, perfunctory and easy, then adjusts the seam for her. “Gorg,” he tells her, and she grins at him.
The restaurant is small and warmly lit, just straddling the line between comfortable and too fancy. The maître d' raises her eyebrows at them when they walk in, but they’re seated quickly, and she hands the wine menu to Holster, who promptly snorts and gives it to Lardo, and she rolls her eyes and orders them a round of Jack Daniels.
“So,” she says, when the maître d' leaves, “which one of you do you think she thinks I’m sleeping with?”
Ransom chokes on his water, and Holster snickers, patting his back. “Who knows,” he says. “Wanna fuck with her until she thinks it’s both of us?”
“Technically it is both of you,” Lardo says, grinning at him over the rim of her water glass, and he laughs.
Their drinks turn up pretty quickly, and their waitress turns out to be way less fazed by the three of them holding hands on the table, so they ditch that in favor of ordering food. Lardo’s a little surprised to find that she’s starving, and steals Holster’s roll off his plate while he’s making a sculpture out of Ransom’s napkin.
“So,” she says, when their food shows up. “Can I ask something?”
“Go for it, brah,” Holster says, cutting into his steak.
Lardo sips her drink, trying to figure out her phrasing. “How long--”
She’s cut off by Holster putting the steak in his mouth and immediately making a sound that’s so close to the moan he’d let out the first time she touched his dick that she bursts out laughing. “Can’t take you fucking anywhere,” Ransom says, shaking his head.
“I think I just saw God,” Holster says. “Seriously. Put this in your mouth.”
Ransom looks like he’s physically trying to restrain himself from saying that’s what she said, and clears his throat, looking pointedly at Lardo. “You were saying?”
“I wasn’t saying anything, I’m busy dying,” she wheezes, still cackling a little. “Holtz, oh my God, you actual loser.” She takes a deep breath and a sip of her water before picking up her own knife and fork. “Anyway,” she says, when she can breathe again, “I was going to ask how long you two have been sleeping together.”
Ransom doesn’t choke on his drink again, but it’s a close thing. Holster looks like a deer in the headlights. “Uh,” he says, glancing sidelong at Ransom, who’s gone from sipping his drink to chugging it. “We’re not?”
“Bullshiiiiiiit,” she drawls. Holster goes red, and Lardo rolls her eyes. “Dude, I don’t care, and obviously I won’t tell anyone, but like--come on.”
They exchange a glance. “Was it super obvious?” Ransom asks, putting his--empty--glass down.
He looks nervous, and she shakes her head. “Only because I was having sex with you,” she says. She keeps her voice down, but the lady at the table next to them drops her fork with a clatter, and Lardo can’t quite keep herself from turning to wink at her before she looks back at the boys. “Like, I never got a vibe or anything, it was just--I mean.” She raises her eyebrows, cocking her head to one side. “You don’t kiss like it’s casual.”
“Yeah. Well.” Holster rubs the back of his head, glancing at Ransom, who’s toying with the carrots on his plate. “We’re not, like...Dating. Technically. I mean, we’re not…”
His face is crazy red. “Dude,” Lardo says, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot.”
“No, it’s cool,” Ransom says. “It’s been...I dunno, Holtz, a couple months?” He shrugs. “Senior year’s been stressful as fuck.”
Lardo snorts. “Fucking right,” she says. She’s started having nightmares about her senior portfolio, with the looming spectre of Sallie Mae floating in the background like the fucking Grim Reaper. She doesn’t know when managing the hockey team became the least stressful thing in her life, but fuck. “It’s working for you?” she asks, half-curious, half-protective. “Like, I don’t have to give either of you a shovel talk?”
Holster grins. “Nah, we’re good.” He leans over to knock his head into Ransom’s shoulder. “Right, bro?”
Ransom rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Except for when you come between me and steak, man,” he says, but he puts his fork down so he can ruffle Holster’s hair. “Speaking of,” he adds, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “We gotta Snapchat this shit to Jack, since he’s picking up the tab. Might as well see what he’s missing.”
“Bro,” Holster says, nudging his plate closer to Ransom’s as Lardo does the same. “Is Jack our sugar daddy now? I think he might be our sugar daddy.”
“Could be,” Ransom says, tugging Holster’s whiskey into the frame. “I told him over the summer I couldn’t decide between med school and PhD programs so he sent me a bunch of GRE and MCAT books. Like, it’s not like he didn’t have cash to burn before? I think he’s just happier to spend the money on us now.”
Lardo grins. “I don’t mind having an NHL sugar daddy,” she says. “In fact, I think I should have two. How’ve those scouts been, Holtz?”
Holster makes a face. “It was one time,” he says. “And it was the Schooners. I don’t think I want to schlep the fuck out to Seattle. Plus I’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy, life is fuckin’ dangerous out there.” He grins. “You got a better shot getting Chowder picked up by the Sharks.”
“Fuck, can you imagine?” Lardo snickers, taking her plate back as Ransom puts his phone away. “He’d be so happy.”
It ends up being a warm, easy meal, ten times fancier than what they’re used to but just as comfortable, and Lardo finds herself relaxing, losing a tension she hadn’t realized she was holding in her shoulders. She hadn’t really thought that sleeping with them would fuck things up, but she’s so, so fucking glad that it hasn’t. She loves these stupid, giant dudes, and good as this afternoon’s sex was, it wasn’t worth messing up a three and a half year friendship.
She’s pleasantly buzzed by the time Ransom gets the check--nowhere close to drunk, but warm and loose and comfortable. They share a chocolate lava cake just obnoxiously enough that the couple at the table behind them keeps glancing their way, Holster spooning up molten chocolate and vanilla ice cream and feeding bites to her and Ransom in turn, grinning wickedly.
“We’re terrible people,” she says, darting her tongue out to catch a stray drop of ice cream.
“Nah,” Ransom says, his eyes glinting.
“Well,” Holster says, catching the rest of the drop on his finger and licking it clean. “Maybe a little.”
Holster drives them back to the house, and Lardo kicks off her heels the second they walk through the door, flopping down onto one of the soft, plush couches in the living room. “So,” she says, stretching out on her stomach. “Now what?”
Ransom plops down on the other couch. “Up to you, birthday girl,” he says, reaching down to untie his shoes. He pulls them off and kicks them away, swinging his legs up and draping them into Holster’s lap. “We can hang out here, watch a movie--”
“Are you asking me to Netflix and chill?” she asks, grinning, and he rolls his eyes.
“Excuse you, we don’t interrupt the sanctity of Parks and Rec to fuck.” Holster fist-bumps him, and Ransom grins. “Nah, I just didn’t know if you wanted to unwind a little. I don’t wanna assume you want to just jump back into bed.”
Lardo props her chin on her hands. They’re so good, her boys. “And if I do?”
The look Holster gives her could totally be a leer in other circumstances, but on him it just looks genuine and wanting. “Then--and correct me if I’m wrong here, Ransy--we are at your disposal.”
“Well,” she says, pretending to think about it. “It is my birthday.”
“Not until tomorrow,” Ransom says, but he grins at her. “So, you wanna head back upstairs?”
She gets off the couch. “I’ll meet you up there? I want to freshen up a little.”
They give her a synchronized thumbs up (they’re so weird; she loves them so much) and they troop up the stairs together. Lardo slips into the master bedroom to grab her toiletry bag and then heads to the hall bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She checks her makeup in the mirror--a little pointless, maybe, she’s pretty sure she’ll sweat it off--and then wriggles her dress up above her hips, slipping her underwear off.
There are washcloths on a shelf above the toilet and she dampens one with warm water, propping one foot on the edge of the bathtub to clean up a little between her legs and then further back. She’d read a bunch of posts, mostly on queer sites, about the benefits of douching versus cleaning, and after a few uncomfortable conversations with Bitty and Nursey (unsurprisingly, Nursey was less awkward and way more teasing), had decided to just stick with soap and water.
Pushing Rans and Holster out of the shower before her earlier had given her a chance to clean up without them watching--she knows they’re going to see everything later, but she had to draw a line somewhere--and it was a little uncomfortable but not as weird as she’d thought. It certainly hadn’t been sexy, using her own fingers and a gentle body wash, but she figures the circumstances make all the difference.
Satisfied that she’s still clean everywhere she should be, she puts the washcloth into the small hamper in the corner, brushes her teeth, and zips her toiletry kit again. She leaves it on the counter and pads down the hall to the master bedroom.
Ransom and Holster are waiting for her on the bed, looking at something on Holster’s phone. They’ve stripped down to their underwear already, and she takes a moment to lean against the door frame, appreciating the view.
Holster glances up and catches her eye, grinning. “Sup, creeper?”
“Just looking,” she says. She crosses the room to climb onto the bed. It’s a very tall bed. “I’m enjoying not having to follow locker room rules. What are you watching?”
“Definitely not game highlights,” Ransom says, taking Holster’s phone and putting it on the nightstand.
Lardo rolls her eyes. “Turn off captain mode, dude. You’re on vacation.”
“Captain mode never sleeps,” he says solemnly, and beckons her closer. She grins and shuffles over on the bed, climbing up into his lap. Her dress doesn’t give her as much flexibility as she’d like, and she tugs it up a little to straddle his hips. Ransom curls his hands over her waist, his long fingers brushing the top of her ass.
“So,” he says. “How do you wanna do this?”
She thinks about it. She’d be lying if she said most of her thoughts weren’t centered on dick comparison. Ransom’s longer, but Holster’s got more girth, and that makes her decision for her. “I think, um.” She flushes a little, and looks down at his chest. It’s a very nice chest. “You behind me, and Holster in front?”
A little voice in her head says if you can’t say it, you’re not mature enough to do it, but she squashes that down. There’s such a thing as delicacy, voice, she tells it.
And anyway, Ransom doesn’t seem bothered, if the twitch of his dick under her is any indication. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can make that happen. Holtz?”
“Definitely,” Holster says. He leans over, raises his eyebrows at her questioningly, and then bends to kiss her neck when she gives him an approving nod. His lips are warm and soft against her skin, brushing close to her pulse, and she shivers, pleased. He’d been paying attention.
“Here’s my thought,” Holster murmurs, the words half-muffled under her jaw. She tilts her head to the side a little, and he hums happily, pressing another kiss to the juncture of her jaw and neck before leaning back. “You’re gonna want to be relaxed when we do this, because it’s gonna be--a lot. So I’m thinking we get you off first, before anyone gets inside you. That okay?”
Warmth curls into her lower belly as his breath ghosts over her skin, and she shifts against Ransom. “Yeah,” she says. “That sounds good.”
Holster smiles. “Great,” he says. He kisses her shoulder. “How do you wanna come, birthday girl?”
Lardo bites her lip. “I liked your mouth,” she says, and his smile turns into a grin.
“Yeah?” He slips a hand up her back, toying with the zipper on her dress. “Alright, then. Let’s get this off you, huh?”
She gets up on her knees so that he can slide the zipper down and pull it over her head, leaving her in her bra and underwear. She’d taken the time to match them, which she usually doesn’t give a fuck about, but it’s worth it for the way Holster’s eyes darken. He slips a finger under the strap of her bralette. “Can we leave this on for a bit?”
“Sure,” she says. His fingers brush her nipple through the lace, and she squirms a little in Ransom’s lap. “Holtzy,” she says, and his grin broadens.
“Turn around,” he instructs, and she twists with Ransom’s help, settling in with her back against his chest. He spreads his legs so she can lean back, not sitting properly in his lap anymore, but she can still feel the line of his dick at the small of her back. She presses more firmly, and he laughs, leaning down to bite gently at her shoulder.
“Stop that,” he tells her, and she tilts her head back to grin at him.
“You don’t like it?” she teases.
He bites a little harder. She giggles.
Holster rolls her eyes at both of them. “Do you mind? I’ve got a very serious task, here.”
Ransom gives a solemn nod, his face the picture of sincere remorse. “Of course, Holtzy. My apologies.”
Holster grins, then flops onto his side, eye-level with Lardo’s knees. He nudges at her leg with his nose and she spreads her legs slightly to let him worm under one, draping her knee over his shoulder. “Yeah, there we go,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle at the lace between her legs, and she makes an appreciative hum. “God, that’s a good look for you.”
Lardo raises her eyes. “The lace?”
“Nah, just this view.” He breathes in through his nose, moaning softly, and she shivers. It should make her feel self-conscious, but he clearly likes it so much that it takes any embarrassment away. “Fuck. I could live here.”
“You wouldn’t miss hockey?” she asks, teasing.
“Not a chance,” he says, tilting his face to lick lightly at her clit through the lace. “This is my new address. Just forward my mail, Rans.”
Ransom chuckles, his breath tickling Lardo’s skin. “You got it, buddy.” His hands slide up from Lardo’s waist to drift teasingly against her nipples. He brushes them gently with the backs of his fingers, and then squeezes. Lardo sucks in a breath and shudders, and the motion brings her closer to Holster’s face.
He opens his mouth in response and licks a line over her, and she bites her lip against a moan. “Yeah,” she says. She likes this, the slow build to contact--it’s not the hot and heavy makeout from earlier, which had wound her up so quickly that the first orgasm had taken her by surprise; this is gentler, and she has a feeling she’ll come slow and hard.
Holster props himself on an elbow and runs his fingertips over her, pressing briefly at the wettest part of her and then teasing back along her labia. “This alright?” he asks.
“I mean.” She wriggles her hips, trying to get closer to him. “You can move it along a little. We’ve got places to be.”
“Don’t rush the artist,” Holster says, grinning at her, but he curls his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and leans back so that he can pull them off. She lifts her hips to help and he tosses them onto the floor before getting comfortable between her legs again. “There we go, yeah,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the spot where her thigh meets her groin, and she shivers a little.
“Holtzy,” she complains, and he flicks his eyes up at her with a smirk before he bends his head. He licks a long, slow line up against her slit, groaning as he does it, and she drops her head back against Ransom’s shoulder. His mouth is wet and wide and he can practically fit it against her cunt, his tongue sliding between her lips in deep, wet licks, just dipping inside her.
Ransom rests his chin on her shoulder. “That’s a good view,” he says, reaching one hand down to brush through Holster’s hair. Lardo turns her head to kiss his bicep and then takes his wrist to put his hand back on her breast, and he laughs, squeezing. She moans, and he kisses the crook of her neck. “Alright, girl, I got you.”
His hand is warm when he slips it under her bralette to touch her bare skin, and she feels caught, unsure if she wants to lean back against the warmth of his chest or forward into the press of his hand. He makes the call for her, wrapping his other arm around her waist to pull her closer to him, and thumbs over her nipple. She whimpers, sensitive.
“Gentler?” she asks, hoarse, and he hums, nuzzling her neck in acknowledgment before lifting his head.
“Scoot, Holtzy,” he says. Holster picks his face up--she whines at the loss of contact--and Ransom reaches down between her legs, running his fingertips against where she’s wet and wanting. He collects some of her slickness on his fingers and then brings them back up to her nipple, and she chokes out a moan at the touch. “Yeah, there it is.”
“Fuck, please,” she bites out, and he starts up slow circles over her nipple, squeezing over her breast with his other hand. Holster bends back down to put his mouth on her again, and she groans. “Yeah, yeah that’s--”
Holster wraps his mouth around her clit and sucks, his moan sending vibrations through her. She sucks in a breath, jolting at the sensitivity, and Holster just presses closer, alternating long sucks on the hood of her clit and deep presses inside her with his tongue. He keeps making soft, wanting noises, groans and grunts and even a few whimpers, his hips moving slightly like he’s not even aware of it. The bulge in his boxers twitches occasionally, a damp spot rubbing at the front.
It makes her want to reach out and touch him, but then she remembers how turned on he’d gotten from eating her out earlier, and holds herself back. She’s pretty sure that their afternoon session took the edge off, but not sure enough that she’d risk making him come before she’s sitting on his dick.
The thought of that sends another jolt of wanting through her. “Holtz,” she says, pushing her hips forward, trying to ignore how wrecked her voice already sounds. “Holtzy, give me--I want something in me.”
Holster moans an affirmation and shifts around to press his fingertips against her, and when she pushes back against him, he slips one inside. The thick, blunt pressure makes her arch her back to try and get more of it; she’s wet enough that he slides in without resistant. He doesn’t wait before he curls his finger up, pushing into the spot deep inside her that drags a moan out of her throat.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” she gasps out, reaching down to dig a hand into his hair. She pulls a little, and he groans, flattening his tongue against her clit. “That’s so good, fuck.”
Pressure starts to build inside her, deep and warm, rising toward a crest. Lardo closes her eyes, turning her head into Ransom’s chest, and a large hand curves over her cheek, tilting her face up. She meets Ransom’s kiss with a moan, trying to lean into it, but she’s caught between his arms and Holster’s face, and ends up shuddering in place instead.
Another finger presses into her and she gasps into Ransom’s mouth, pushing her hips into the touch. Holster’s fingers are thicker than Ransom’s, but between Ransom fingering her earlier and how wet she is now, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just hot, hard pressure, and god his dick is so much bigger than his fingers, this is going to be insane.
“Close,” she bites out, her teeth catching Ransom’s lip, and Holster, bless him, doesn’t change what he’s doing. He moves his fingers in deep, hard strokes, sucks and licks at her hood, moans against her. “Oh my god oh my god, fuck, I’m--”
Ransom kisses her harder, his fingers wet and tight at her nipple, and the orgasm washes over her like a wave, spreading out from her pelvis and rocking her entire body. She gasps against Ransom’s lips, shaking, and Holster keeps his mouth and hands moving as the aftershocks shudder through her. She’s vaguely aware of him groaning into her clit, and she digs her fingers into his hair, clinging like it’ll keep her from falling apart completely.
Finally, Holster relaxes his mouth around her clit, licking gently around it as he eases his fingers out of her. “Jesus fuck,” he rasps, pressing a hard kiss to her inner thigh. “You come so pretty, Lards, holy shit.”
Lardo tries to grin, but she’s pretty sure all she can manage is a wobbly smile. “Not so bad yourself, Birkholtz.”
He flashes her a grin, sitting up and wiping his mouth. He regards his fingers for a moment, then smirks at Ransom. “Hey, Rans. Open up.”
Ransom leans over Lardo’s shoulder, making her curl forward slightly, and Holster slips his fingers, still glistening, into Ransom’s mouth. Ransom makes a soft, wanting sound, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on Holster’s fingers, and Lardo shivers slightly, another aftershock twitching through her.
“Hey,” she says. “Someone should fuck me.” She raises a pointed eyebrow at Holster, who immediately pulls his hand out of Ransom’s mouth and sits up properly.
“Yo, I am right here.” She laughs, and he leans forward and pulls her off Ransom’s lap and into his, wrapping his arms around her waist. She feels held and warm, and he nuzzles his face into her neck. “Hey, girl.”
“Hi.” She squirms against him, feeling how hard he is in his boxers. “You gonna get this inside me?”
He grins, but she feels the shudder go through him. “Yeah. Fuck, yes. Whatever you want.” He kisses the crook of her neck, the underside of her jaw, the line her collarbone.
Ransom shifts next to them, running a hand over Lardo’s back. She hums, pleased at the warm touch of his hand, and he slips his fingers under the strap of her bralette. “Can I take this off you?”
He helps her pull it over her head, and Holster immediately bends down to put one of her nipples into his mouth. She laughs softly, shivering at the stimulation and slipping her hands into his hair. “You really weren’t kidding about that oral fixation, huh?”
“Uh-uh,” he says around her breast, and she laughs again, scritching gently at the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. He rolls his hips up against her, then lifts his head. “You sure you want this?”
Lardo kisses his temple. She’s felt empty since he pulled his fingers out, and she wants everything. Her skin is goose-bumping with anticipation. This is going to be so much. “Yeah, I do.”
Holster gives her a wide, open grin; genuine and bright. He takes a hand off her waist, wriggling his fingers at Ransom. “Condom and lube?”
Ransom laughs. “Got you with the assist,” he says, and snaps Holster’s waistband against his hip. Holster yelps, and Lardo snickers, climbing off him so he can push his boxers off. His dick springs up against his stomach, hard and glistening at the tip, and Lardo grins, reaching down to thumb over the wetness there.
Holster groans and thrusts into her hand, and she laughs, pulling her fingers back. “You’re not close, are you?”
“I could be,” he says, half a grumble, but shakes his head. “Nah. Earlier took the edge off, I should be good.” He leans over to nip at her throat. “I’ll let you know if we’re gonna have a problem.”
He punctuates that with another bite, and Lardo can’t help grinning back at him. He leans back against the headboard, and Ransom nudges Lardo gently out of the way, opening the condom and rolling it onto Holster’s dick. Ransom grabs the lube and pours some into his hand, stroking the length of the condom. Holster tilts his head back, exhaling hard. “Jesus, Rans, careful.”
Ransom grins, wicked. “No apologies.”
“You’re gonna apologize if you make him come before we even get started,” Lardo says, flicking him in the shoulder, and Ransom has the grace to look at least a little apologetic.
“Yeah, okay.” He adds a little more lube and then takes his hand away, Holster’s dick twitching a little as his fingers slide through the lube. “Okay, so. Wrangling. Holtzy? On your back, I think. That’s gonna be the easiest way to do this.”
Holster nods, wriggling down on the pillows, then twisting around to put a few more behind his head and shoulders. When he flops down again, his chest is raised up a little, but he’s still pretty flat. He reaches up a hand and runs his hand over Lardo’s side. “You gonna be okay on your knees like this?”
“Yeah. I get issues if I’m on my knees and my wrists, but I think you can hold me up if I need it.” She grins at him, and he winks back. She looks over his shoulder at Ransom. “So I should…”
“Yeah, get up on that, girl.” Ransom gives her a thumbs-up, and she rolls her eyes. He laughs. “Nah, okay. You wanna get settled on him--and trust me, you’ll want a minute or two--and then once you’re comfy, I’ll work on opening you up back here.” He brushes his fingers over the curve of her ass, and she bites her bottom lip in anticipation. “Or not, if you decide it’s too much. We’ll play it by ear, okay?”
Lardo nods, and then, when it’s clear they’re waiting for verbal consent, says, “Yes. Okay. Sounds good.”
She shifts up onto her knees, and lets Holster guide her to straddle him with his hands on her hips. Even with the condom and lube she can feel the warmth of him against her, and she reaches down to run the head of his dick over her slit a few times, getting herself wetter and grinning when he gives a soft groan. “This good?” she says, and he nods.
The first press is broad and thick and hard, and she catches her breath, pausing with just the head inside her. “Okay, holy shit,” she says, breathless, and Holster laughs, flexing his hands on her waist.
“Take it slow, birthday girl.”
She nods, glad for Ransom’s supporting arm at her back. She moves her hips in slow, rocking motions, carefully moving down onto him. The stretch is a lot, and she knows he’s not even halfway into her. “Jesus fuck, why is your dick like this,” she gasps, reaching up to grab his shoulders.
Holster gives a rough laugh. “Sorry?”
“Don’t be, I’m just…” She takes another inch and shivers. “Fuck. It’s a lot.” She looks over her shoulder at Ransom. “Good call on the extra lube.”
Ransom grins. “Told you.” He reaches a hand around her, stroking his thumb gently over the hood of her clit. Lardo bites her lip again, rocking into his hand and then down onto Holster’s cock, drops down a little further. “There you go, you got it,” he says, voice gentle and encouraging. He kisses the blade of her shoulder. “Little bit more, you’re almost there.”
Lardo closes her eyes, feels her lips tug up in a breathy smile. “You gonna measure for me?”
“Don’t measure for her,” Holster says. Ransom chuckles.
“You’re fine, girlie, you’re good.”
Lardo curls her hand around Ransom’s wrist, wraps her fingers around him to guide his thumb a little harder against her clit, and slowly, so slowly, inches herself down until she can feel Holster’s pubic hair against hers. She takes a minute and just breathes, feeling impossibly full, the head of his dick pressing against that spot inside her that makes her tighten up and shiver.
“Holy shit,” she breathes out. “Okay. Holy shit.” She opens her eyes to meet Holster’s, and finds him looking at her with wide, almost reverent eyes. “Holtzy, you good?”
“I’m fucking fantastic,” he says. He doesn’t move and she’s glad, because she doesn’t think she can handle that just yet. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Lardo shifts a little, carefully, exhaling as she moves. She’s still wet, even if she’s not as turned on as she was, and she feels herself get wetter as she adjusts to him. “Okay,” she repeats. “Yeah. This is working.”
Holster hums, stroking his thumbs against her ribs. “Yeah?” He catches the bottom of her nipple, making her suck in a sharp breath. “What you wanted?”
Lardo nods, swallowing. She pushes up on her knees and then slides carefully back down, biting back the moan in her throat, and then grins at him. “I mean. Almost.” She looks over her shoulder. “Rans?”
Ransom smiles, moving closer to her and running his hand over her back. “You ready for more than that? Sure you don’t wanna wait?”
She shakes her head. “I want to keep going,” she says, and shoots him a nervous smile. “I think if we lose momentum, I’ll lose my nerve.”
“No pressure,” Ransom reminds her.
“I know.” She leans back to kiss his cheekbone, shaking a little at the way the movement changes Holster’s angle. “And I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much. But I want it.”
“No one’s gonna make you beg, birthday girl.” Ransom squeezes her hip and then reaches to pick up the lube, abandoned on the side of the bed. “Here, lift up a little. This’ll help.”
She pulls off Holster until only the head of his dick is inside her, and feels the brush of Ransom’s hand as he adds more lube to the condom. When she moves back down, it’s smoother and wetter, and she sighs. “That is better.” She rocks herself against him, the motion easier and less overwhelming, and Holster makes a pleased sound.
“You look so fucking good, Lards,” he says. “Seriously, you’re...fuck.”
Lardo grins at him. “Yes, we are fuck. Get with the program, Birkholtz.” Holster pinches her thigh, and she shrieks, squirming. “Rude!”
Ransom laughs. “Careful, Holtz, she’ll break your dick if you make her twist too much.” Holster winces and pats her leg in immediate apology. Ransom kisses her shoulder, still laughing, and then shifts out from behind Lardo so she can look at him. “Meant to ask you earlier,” he says. “We brought gloves for this, too. Me and Holtzy don’t use them, but I wasn’t sure if you’d maybe want to.”
A warm cloud of fondness blossoms in her chest. “That’d be great, actually.”
“You got it.” He leans over the bed to rummage in one of the duffles on the floor, coming up with a glove and carefully working it on. “One size fits most my ass,” he mutters. “Last time I steal from the bio lab. Alright, there we go.”
He turns his hand, as if he’s inspecting the integrity of the glove, and then picks up the lube again. “You okay with me behind you?”
“Yeah.” She trusts him. They wouldn't be here if she didn’t. “Just tell me what you’re gonna do before you do it?”
His face softens. “Lards, of course.” He curls a hand over her cheek and leans in to kiss her, wet and sweet, and she’s warm and wanting by the time he pulls away, her hips moving in small circles almost without her realizing.
Ransom drops a last kiss to her lips and then climbs behind her again, getting a grunt from Holster when he accidentally knocks into his leg. Lardo hears the click of the lube cap, and then his bare hand, dry, settles on her hip.
“I’m gonna touch you just to get you used to it, okay?” he murmurs, ducking his lips to her neck. “Not gonna press in yet.”
She licks her lips and nods.
The first touch of his wet finger against her ass makes her jump, startled, and she gives a small, embarrassed laugh. “Sorry,” Ransom says. “Cold?”
She shakes her head. The lube is a little chilly, but it’s nice against her heated skin. “I’m good.”
“Yeah you are,” Holster says, and she can’t help grinning at him. He feels crazy hard inside her, but he’s holding himself still, and she runs a hand over his chest in gratitude.
“You can move a little,” she tells him. “If you want.”
Holster grins, dropping his hands down to curl around her hips, his thumbs stroking the crease of her inner thigh. He pushes up into her in tiny, rocking thrusts, and Lardo exhales hard. “Okay?” he asks, blue eyes bright. She’s glad he’s in contacts, not glasses. She likes being able to see his eyes.
“It’s good,” she says. The gentle movement against the sensitive front of her walls makes warmth pool between her legs, and she tightens her grip on his shoulders. “It feels really good.”
It’s good enough that she barely notices that Ransom’s still touching her, the pad of his finger tracing over her hole in light, testing brushes. She tunes back into it as he starts varying the pressure, sliding over her and giving the slightest press against her, almost teasing her. Everything feels wet, and she wonders how much lube he’s using.
Not that she’s complaining. Too much is way better than not enough. She shivers as the next touch comes with even more pressure, feeling the sensitivity and arousal mount in her nerves.
When the contact goes from teasing to frustrating, she squirms back, trying to get more. “Rans, come on.”
He presses the tip of his finger against her, and she whimpers at the suggestion of penetration. “Yeah?” he checks.
She squeezes around him, like she could force him into her if she tries. Holster’s breath hitches. “Yes.”
The lube clicks again and his hand disappears, and then it’s back, wetter. “Alright,” Ransom murmurs. “Holtzy, you keep doing what you’re doing. Lards, lean forward a little, okay?” She does, Holster supporting her with his hands on her waist, and Ransom gives a low whistle. “Holy fuck, that’s a view,” he says, almost reverent. “Alright, boss lady. Here we go.”
His finger feels a lot thicker in her ass than it had in her cunt, and she gasps, tensing automatically at the pressure. Ransom kisses her neck. “Breathe out,” he instructs, calm and firm, and she exhales. He slides into the knuckle.
“Hoooly God,” Holster says, his voice a shaking rasp. Lardo doesn’t say anything, just nods her agreement. Everything feels stretched and full, and she knows they’re just starting.
For a brief moment, she wonders if maybe this was a bad idea.
Then Holster shifts inside her, just a fraction, and something clicks, and the intensity starts to give way to something hot and overwhelming. “Okay,” she breathes, closing her eyes. She flexes internal muscles around Ransom’s finger, knowing she’s squeezing Holster at the same time, and she swallows a moan. “Yeah, okay. This is good.”
“You’re doing great,” Ransom says. “Can I move, or do you want me to stay like this?”
“Moving feels better,” Holster adds, running his hands over her sides.
She likes the idea of better. “Yeah, you should move.”
Ransom pulls his finger back and then presses back in, and it’s definitely an adjustment, but it does feel better than it had when he’d been still. She arches her back to take him a little deeper, and feels herself starting to relax. “There you go,” Ransom says, encouraging. “You’re good, you got it. Feel okay?”
“Yeah, I’m--good, I’m good.” She opens her eyes to look down at Holster, returns his beaming smile with a smaller one of her own. “I...Can you do another one?”
“You sure?” She nods, leaning back against him, and he chuckles against her skin. “Okay, eager. I got you.” He slides another finger against her, rubbing against where the first is already buried deep, and then draws out. “Remember to breathe,” he reminds her, and presses both inside her.
She does remember to breathe, but only because the pressure knocks the breath out of her lungs. “Oh my god,” she gasps, because that’s a lot, holy shit, okay.
“Good ‘oh my god’ or bad ‘oh my god’?” Ransom asks, stopping his fingers halfway inside her.
Lardo swallows hard. “Good. Good, don’t stop.”
It doesn’t take her long to adjust to two fingers; her body’s getting used to the sensation and stretch. Before she knows it, she’s grinding back against Ransom and asking for a third. Ransom gives it to her, slow and careful, and for a moment she forgets how her lungs work. He kisses her neck in a reminder to breathe, and she exhales, trembling, clinging to Holster’s arms as her body adjusts.
She manages to nod an okay, we’re good after a minute or two, but the first slow thrust of three of Ransom’s fingers into her drags a strangled noise out of Holster’s throat. “Holy shit, Rans, stop,” he gasps.
Ransom freezes. “You okay?”
“Way too okay,” Holster bites out, lips tugging into a sheepish smile while his cheeks flush. “I just--I need a minute.” He looks at Lardo. “You okay for a minute?”
Lardo resists the urge to move. “Not a long minute,” she says, but she grins at him, reaching down to run a hand through his hair. He shudders and turns his head to kiss her wrist, taking slow, deep breaths, and she can feel him twitching inside her while he gets himself under control.
“Rans isn’t even inside me yet,” she says, just to be an asshole. “What are you gonna do when he’s all up against you, and--”
Holster reaches up and covers her mouth. “Shush,” he says sternly, cheeks going a darker red. She snickers against his hand, adjusting slightly in his lap, feeling the burn of Ransom’s fingers in her start to fade to an eager warmth.
After what feels like an eternity, some of the tension leaves Holster’s clenched abs, and he relaxes under her. “Okay,” he says. “I think I’m good. Just, uh. Take it slow?”
“Obviously,” Ransom says dryly, and Lardo laughs, a little breathless. He eases his fingers out and then slides them slowly back into her, and she can’t help her whimper. He kisses her jaw. “You’re doing great,” he says. “Taking this like a fucking champ, Lards.”
She reaches a hand back to squeeze his hip in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice. He presses another kiss to her neck, keeps his fingers moving in slow, gentle thrusts. “Fuck. I can’t believe how tight you are.”
“Believe it,” Holster says weakly.
Another laugh punches out of her chest, and she rolls her hips as much as she can, trying to get more of...everything. It’s as overwhelming as she’d hoped, her whole body drawn hot and tight, and she knows it’ll be even better when Ransom’s inside her for real.
The memory of why they’re here and what their goal is makes her shudder, the wanting hitting her deep in her core. “Rans,” she says, trying not to squirm. “Rans, I’m good. I’m ready.”
He doesn’t stop moving his hand. “You sure?” he asks, his breath warm against her skin. “I thought maybe we should get you off again. Relax you a little.”
Lardo shakes her head, craning her neck to try and look at him. “I don’t want to get oversensitive.” His fingers press in deeper, and she tries and fails to bite back a whine. “Rans, Please.”
“Fuck,” he says. “Okay, okay, I hear you.” He pulls his fingers out slowly, and the loss makes her whimper. He presses an apologetic kiss to her shoulder blade. “I know, girl, I’m sorry. It’s just for a sec.” He leans around her to slip the glove off, dropping it into the trash next to the bed and reaching for a condom from the box on the nightstand. He pauses briefly to tilt Holster’s face into a kiss, and then stays there, lingering. Holster groans, the sound half-muffled between them, and Lardo gives them a minute out of sheer affection before clearing her throat.
“Yo,” she says. “I’m still here.”
“Trust me,” Holster says, breaking away from Ransom with a wet sound. “No one forgot you’re there.” He pushes his hips gently up, making her moan and flick his hip in admonishment. He grins at her.
Ransom drops another kiss to Holster’s cheek and then shoots her a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t resist,” he says. He sticks the condom between his teeth and gets off the bed to pull his underwear off--she whistles at him, and he winks--and then sits back down to open the condom.
“Let me,” Holster says, making a grabbing motion. “Fair’s fair.” Ransom laughs, getting up onto his knees and shuffling closer so that Holster can roll the condom on for him. He groans a little--Lardo realizes that no one’s touched him this whole time--and thrusts into Holster’s fist once, twice, then shudders and pulls away.
“Tempting,” he says. “But I think Lardo will genuinely kill us if either of us come before she’s ready.
“I absolutely will,” Lardo says. She snaps her fingers at him. “While I’m still young and pretty, Rans, c’mon.”
He drops a smiling kiss to her cheek and resettles himself behind her. The lube clicks again and she hears the slick sound of a hand over latex, and then Ransom squeezes her hip briefly in warning. His other hand dips between her cheeks, holding her open, and the blunt head of his dick presses against her, slick and hard and daunting. “Ready?”
Lardo holds up a finger and adjusts her position slightly, grinning at Holster’s rough inhale as she leans forward. She steadies herself on Holster’s chest, and he reaches up to support her with his hands on her ribs, holding her weight easily.
She gives him a grateful smile, then twists her head to look at Ransom. “Yeah,” she says, nerves sparking in excitement and anticipation. “Bring it.”
Ransom pushes forward, and Lardo sucks in a shocked breath at the pressure. His dick is definitely bigger than his fingers, and even though they’re both wet with lube, she feels every millimeter of extra stretch.
The head of his dick gets past her rim and she feels the way her body flexes around him, automatic. “Deep breaths,” he says, and she pulls in a shaking inhale, lets it out, inhales again. Some of the pressure begins to ease. “There you go. Oh, fuck. You’re doing so fucking well.”
He’s hot and solid and hard behind her, and she whimpers. “Don’t stop,” she chokes out. “Just keep--” He slides in another inch, slowly, and she moans. “Yeah. Fuck.”
Ransom shudders, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her cheekbone, and he keeps moving, pressing in with agonizing slowness. It feels like an eternity,but she knows it’s all one long, controlled thrust. Holster’s dick throbs inside her as Ransom moves, and she’s vaguely aware of him groaning, his hands flexing against her ribs, but she barely feels it.
Everything is heat and pressure and stretch, Ransom’s bulk at her back and Holster a steady wall of warmth underneath her. She’s incredibly aware, suddenly, of the vulnerability of this, her body suspended between these two huge, powerful people. It should be terrifying.
She’s never felt so safe.
Ransom’s hips meet the curve of her ass, the entire hot length of him inside her. For a few moments they’re suspended, the three of them frozen in a silent tableau.
“Lards,” Ransom gasps, finally, his voice tight and strained. “Need to hear your voice, birthday girl.”
“I--” Her voice is dry, and she realizes she’s been gasping. “I’m so good. I--it’s so much. Fuck.” She reaches back and digs her fingers into his hip. “Move? Please?”
“Whatever you want.” He pulls out a few inches and pushes slowly back in. It feels amazing, the stretch of him dragging against all the places where Holster’s already so deep inside her, and the combination of sensations makes her moan.
“Yeah?” Ransom murmurs in her ear, and she bites out an affirmative. He does it again, and this time Holster’s moan tangles with hers. “Fuck.” A shudder goes through Ransom’s body, strong enough that Lardo feels the echoes of it, and he thrusts in again. “You two--you look so fucking good.”
Lardo catches her breath on a whimper, trembling. Everything is building inside her, heat and pressure and tightness. It all pools between her legs as Ransom keeps moving, giving her more stimulation, more--fuck, she doesn’t even know what, just more. It’s so fucking much. “I’m so close,” she bites out. “Oh my god, I’m so close.”
Ransom runs a hand through her hair, not stopping the slow, even rolls of his hips. “Already?” She nods, squeezing her eyes shut. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Okay, okay, we got you--Holtz--”
A warm, broad thumb slides over her labia, collecting lube and her own wetness, and then shifts to rub against the hood of her clit. A hard spark of pressure shoots through her. “Oh fuck,” she groans, rocking into it as much as she can. “Yeah, please, please, I’m so--”
The orgasm hits her in a crash, all of her nerves lighting up at once. She comes apart with a full throated cry, and Ransom wraps an arm around her waist, cradling her back against him as she shakes and starts to fall forward. It’s the kind of orgasm that comes from deep inside her and blossoms out in shattering waves, and Ransom, fucking bless him, keeps moving through it, keeps it going longer and harder and deeper.
“God, fuck, oh my god,” she whimpers, her voice wrecked even to her own ears. Another wave hits her, and she can’t even tell if it’s an aftershock or if the orgasm’s still going. “Oh, my god, fuck.”
“Too much?” Ransom asks, breathless and rough. “You wanna stop?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her hair sweat-damp and sticking to her neck. Ransom brushes it away with his free hand. “No, I can come again, I want more.”
Holster moves his hands to her hips now that Ransom’s holding her up, groaning. He moves in slow, hitching thrusts; he doesn’t have the leverage for more than that with Lardo on top of him and Ransom behind her, between Holster’s legs. He gets deeper, though, pressing against her g-spot and rubbing against the length of Ransom’s dick, and she lets out a whimper. “Yeah?” Holster says.
“Yeah, please.” She clings to Ransom’s hip with one hand, the other dropping down to just scramble against Holster’s waist and abs, unable to decide on a grip. “Please, I just want…”
Ransom shushes her gently, kissing over her neck. “We got you, boss, we’ve got you.” He rocks into her, every thrust rocking her over Holster, who groans deep in his throat. “Oh, fuck. Holtz, I can feel you, holy shit.”
“Justin, I fucking love you, but I really need you to stop talking if you don’t want me to fucking come,” Holster bites out, his jaw tight. A bark of laughter gets past Lardo’s tight throat, and she squeezes the closest thing she can reach, which happens to be his hip.
“You’re doing so great, Holtzy,” she says, and fuck, she’s never heard her voice like this, breathy and strained. “Just wait a little longer, please?”
Holster bites his lip and nods, and then groans at Ransom’s next thrust. “Fuck,” he chokes out. “Shit, I’m so close.”
Ransom shudders a laugh, burying his face into Lardo’s shoulder. “I’m not talking,” he mumbles against her skin, and she can’t help but echo his giggle, reaching back to curl her hand over the nape of his neck. He nuzzles into her touch, the faint scrape of roughness at his jaw making her shiver, and she closes her eyes.
Arousal builds inside her with every movement of his hips, residual tremors from her last orgasm already starting to mount towards the next one. She feels hot and held and surrounded, Ransom strong and broad behind her, Holster solid and thick between her legs, close enough that she can feel the heat coming off his chest. “Holtz, I want you closer,” she gasps.
She wants to feel everything, wants them both pressed against her, and Holster must see it in her face because he takes a deep breath, exhales on a groan. “Alright, we got you,” he says. “Rans, can we--”
“Yeah,” Ransom says, and god fucking bless their drift compatibility, because the move they pull is practically impossible--Holster sits up, drawing Lardo with him as he slides back on the bed to lean against the headboard, and Ransom follows smoothly on his knees, so easily that he barely moves inside her. He presses in more deeply as he catches up to them, the movement pushing Lardo against Holster’s chest even as he slips his hands around her legs to pull her more fully into his lap.
A rough sob tears out of her at the feeling, her chest pressed to Holster’s and Ransom plastering his entire torso against her back, thrusting into her so deeply she thinks she can feel it in her toes. She whimpers a “fuck” into Holster’s shoulder, and he cups her face in his hands, draws her into a wet, messy kiss.
Every part of him is tense underneath her; he’s not trying to match Ransom’s thrusts anymore, is just moving his hips in tiny, jerking hitches that must be entirely automatic. “God, you’re so close, aren’t you?” she whispers against his lips, and he nods, groaning when Ransom thrusts in again. Her choking moan mingles with his, and she sucks his lower lip into her mouth to keep from whimpering.
“You are too,” he whispers back, and she nods; she knows he can feel how tight she is, tiny flutters already starting inside her. “Fuck. Gonna come the second you do, Lards, I’m so fucking--God,” he breaks off, as Ransom gives a particularly firm thrust, rocking Lardo forward. “Rans, Justin, fuck, you’re so--”
“I know,” Ransom says, his arm still warm and tight around Lardo’s middle, keeping her safe and steady. “I know, babe, I can feel it, I can feel you.”
It’s everything she wanted, everything hot and close and building, her body pushed to its limits, tight and stretched and fuller than she ever thought possible. Her clit throbs, untouched, and as if reading her mind, Ransom reaches down to thumb it. Lardo whines, high in her throat. “Please.”
“Come on,” he murmurs in her ear. “Come on, baby girl, you’re so close, you’re almost there.” She lets out a sob, her body tensing, everything frozen on the edge, she just can’t--it’s too much, almost, everything overstimulated and oversensitive, she can’t, she can’t--
Holster lets out a desperate sound and rocks his hips up, his dick sliding just a fraction deeper inside her, and that’s it. It sets off a chain reaction, throws her into orgasm hard enough that she actually screams, barely remembering to try and muffle the sound into Holster’s mouth. She clenches hard, the climax coming from somewhere deep inside her that she didn’t know existed, washing over her in waves strong enough to make her entire body shake.
She’s talking, she realizes distantly, a litany of fuck fuck fucks slipping past her lips as she tries to ride the waves and can barely move the way she’s pinned between them. Holster tears his mouth away from hers, biting out, “Fuck, I can’t--” and she feels him come, thrusting up into her as much as he can as he goes rigid and then shudders, his hands digging into her hips.
The feeling of him pulsing inside her sets off another wave of aftershocks, or maybe even another orgasm; at this point she can’t even tell. She chokes out another whimpering moan, clinging to whatever she can reach.
It takes a long time for the sensation to soften, for her to catch her breath. There are tears in her eyes that she hadn’t noticed, her entire body numb and tingling. Holster’s pressing deep kisses to her neck and shoulders, Ransom stroking a soothing path over her stomach and ribs. “God,” she says, and her voice comes out a hoarse rasp. Fuck, was she actually screaming? “I’ve never fucking come like that before, holy shit. I can’t feel my toes. I don’t know if I still have toes. Do I still have toes?”
Ransom snorts against her shoulder. “You’ve got all your bits, baby,” he tells her.
His dick twitches inside her, still hard, and she shivers. She knows her limits when she hits them, and she definitely can’t go again. “Rans,” she says, apologetic. “I don’t think I can--”
“Shh, it’s fine.” He nuzzles her neck, the hand not touching her ribs drifting up to smooth through Holster’s hair where he’s resting his head on her free shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You want us out, or do you wanna wait a minute?”
“Can you,” she says, her voice still rasping a bit, and he kisses her neck and drops a hand to her hip, holding her steady as he slowly pulls out.
It’s a long movement, careful, the head of his dick catching slightly against her rim before the heat of him leaves her completely. She whimpers at the weird feeling of emptiness; it’s not what she’s used to and she decides immediately that she doesn’t like it.
Ransom strokes a hand over her back as he shifts backwards, and she turns her head to see him take the condom off and knot it, leaning over the bed to drop it into the trash can. He kisses the small of her back and then flops down onto the bed next to Holster, apparently content to ignore his dick, which is hard enough to brush his stomach, smearing a wet trail of precome against his navel.
“God,” he sighs. “Lardo. You are a fucking force of nature, you know that?”
She manages a tired smile. “I try,” she says. She shifts her hips around Holster’s softening dick, and he exhales hard. “Hey,” she says. “You wanna take care of Ransom? I wanna watch you make him come.”
He actually twitches inside her, and he groans. “Jesus, Lards, let me breathe,” he says, but he gives her a grin and she kisses him quickly before slowly climbing off his lap. He reaches down to hold the base of the condom as she lets him slip out of her, and she shivers.
“Fuck, that’s weird,” she says, wriggling her hips a little. She feels stretched and empty, like there should be something inside her, and she winces a little as she settles down on the bed. “Ow.”
Ransom’s comfortable expression shifts immediately to concern. He half-sits up, reaching for her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a little sore.” She grins. “Good sore, I promise.” She nudges Holster’s shoulder. “Hey. You’re not gonna just leave him like that, are you?”
Holster knots his condom and drops it into the trash, then shoots her an almost offended look. “I would never,” he says, all fake scandal and wide eyes, and she laughs as he rolls over to worm himself between Ransom’s legs. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Ransom’s hip and Ransom swears, reaches down to tangle a hand into Holster’s hair.
“Fuck you smell good,” Holster mumbles, half-muffled into Ransom’s groin. “Like sweat and sex and me, I think. God.” He licks a line up Ransom’s balls, and Ransom groans, drops his head back. “Lemme suck you?”
“Yeah, Adam, Jesus,” Ransom bites out, and Holster moans and drops his mouth onto Ransom’s dick in a long, smooth move that Lardo almost wants to applaud. Ransom hisses through his teeth, digging his fingers into Holster’s hair. “God,” he says, and his other hand grasps wildly in the air.
It takes a moment for Lardo to realize he’s looking for her, and she reaches out to lace her fingers through his, pulling his hand to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. “There you go, gorgeous,” she says, shifting closer to plaster herself against his side. Ransom makes a sound that borders on a whimper, closing his eyes, and Lardo hums. “Feels good? You like his mouth?”
“Yeah,” Ransom pants, not opening his eyes.
“Good,” she says, squeezing his hand. “You deserve to feel good.” She’s not a huge talker in bed, and her whole body is starting to melt into post-coital jelly, but she remembers how much Ransom had liked this earlier, and he definitely deserves to get off hard. “You were so amazing, you both were. You gave me exactly what I wanted. You got so deep, both of you, god. I’ve never come like that before.”
Ransom shivers, his hips moving up slightly. Holster wraps a hand around the base of his dick, his head bobbing, slick sounds everywhere. Ransom sucks his lower lip into his mouth and tightens his grip on Holster’s hair. His abs are tight, every muscle tense and defined.
“You close?” Lardo asks, and Ransom nods without opening his eyes. She watches his abs tense, his knuckles paling. “You don’t have to wait. You’ve already been so patient. Come on, Rans, let me see you. I want to see it.”
“Holster,” Ransom gasps out, and it’s clearly a warning, because Holster pulls off him, propping himself up on one elbow. His lips are red and flushed, and his hand slides slick over Ransom’s length. It barely takes three strokes for Ransom to come, arching his back and groaning as he spills all over Holster’s fingers, thick pulses covering Holster’s hand and his own stomach.
“Gorgeous,” Lardo says, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss her, a little sloppily, breathing hard. She strokes his neck in slow, calming movements while Holster works him through the aftershocks.
After a long moment, he pulls his mouth from hers and drops his face into the crook of her neck. “Fuck,” he says reverently. Holster strokes his hand up and over him, using his come as lube, and Ransom’s whole body jerks. “Fuck.”
Lardo laughs. “Leave him alone, Holster,” she chides, and Holster gives her a wicked grin but lets go, sitting up and wiping his hand on the sheets. They’re trashed anyway; they’re totally going to have to sleep in one of the other rooms. “God. You guys good?”
“Never better,” Holster says. He gets off the bed, kissing her cheek as he pads into the master bathroom. A moment later, she hears the water in the bath start to run.
Ransom nuzzles her throat for a moment, then lifts his head. “Did you like your birthday present?”
“I very much did,” she says, grinning at him. “It was exactly what I wanted. How’d you know?”
He snickers, pushing himself to sit up properly. He wipes his stomach off with the sheet and rolls his shoulders. “Little birdie told me,” he says. His voice is light and easy, none of the awkwardness she’d been half-worried would set in, and she feels herself relax. “A little birdie also told me that you will absolutely want to relax in some hot water after what we just did.” He gets off the bed and holds his arms out, and she raises her eyebrows.
“I can walk,” she says.
“Yeah?” He grins. “Alright, go for it.”
Rolling her eyes, Lardo climbs off the bed--and immediately feels her legs buckle, all the stretch and soreness through her groin suddenly ricocheting up through the rest of her body. “Holy balls,” she says, scrambling to grab at Ransom’s arms, and he laughs, scooping her gently up into a bridal carry.
“Don’t you dare say you told me so,” she grumbles, wrapping an arm around his neck.
“I would never,” he promises, carrying her into the bathroom.
Holster’s sitting on the side of the bathtub, dangling his fingers in the water to test the temperature. “Right on schedule,” he says. Lardo flips him off, and he grins, scooting back so Ransom can deposit her gently into the tub.
Dammit, the hot water does feel amazing. “Fuck,” she sighs, relaxing into it. “Okay. That’s really good.”
“Got your back, bud,” Ransom says.
“And your front,” Holster adds. Lardo shrieks and splashes him, and Holster bursts out cackling. “I had to! Come on, I had to at least once!”
...honestly, fair. She makes a sour face at him anyway, and he laughs. “Whatever, you know it’s funny.” He leans over to smack a kiss against the top of her head, then gets to his feet. “Gonna run downstairs for a minute. Want anything?”
“My phone?” she asks. She owes Clare a hell of a thank you text. And she should probably text Shitty, too.
“You got it.” He heads out of the room.
Ransom sits down on the bath mat next to her. “You doing good?”
Lardo smiles at him. “I’m doing great,” she says. He tilts his head to one side, and she reaches out to touch his cheek. “Seriously. It was...it was exactly what I wanted.”
“Good.” He pauses. “And, like. We’re chill? Still bros?”
“Absolutely still bros,” she confirms, flicking his ear fondly. “Bros who just had crazy, mind-blowing sex, but totally bros.”
It’s probably only because she knows him so well that she catches the flicker of relief on his face before it disappears. He shifts on the bath mat to get more comfortable, and she spots a streak of mostly-dried come on his stomach that he’d missed when he wiped down.
He hasn’t bothered to put clothes on, either, but whatever. She’s been in the locker room, she’s seen his dick in a non-sexual context before.
“So,” she says, moving her hips in the water to try and relax her sore muscles. “Now what? It’s still pretty early.”
“Well, I know we had that kickass dinner earlier, but honestly? I could totally eat.” He gives her an Athlete’s Metabolism grin, and she shakes her head, amused. She has no idea how someone with his body fat percentage puts away so much food. “Then I figure we snag one of the beds we didn’t trash, and watch a bunch of Brooklyn 99 until we pass out.”
She has the best fucking friends. “Sounds awesome,” she says. “Clothing optional?” she adds, just to tease.
Ransom looks pained. “Girl, I’m pretty sure I will literally die if we try to fuck again tonight,” he says. “I mean, if you wanna go for it, I am here for you like the ride-or-die bro I am, but--”
“I’m fucking with you,” she says. She’s had six orgasms today, she’s not shooting for more. He heaves a sigh of relief.
“Thank fucking god,” he says. He reaches down to pat his dick. “You get to live another day, buddy.”
“Well that’s a weird thing to come back to with no context,” Holster says, coming back into the room. He’s carrying a square pan with a lit candle stuck in it with one hand, and some plastic forks in another.
Lardo sits up, water sloshing around the sides of the tub. “What the fuck, Holtzy?”
He sits down on the floor next to Ransom. It’s a good thing this bathroom is huge. “You didn’t think we’d let you have a birthday without cake, did you?”
She takes the pan. The cake inside is clearly homemade and clearly made without Bitty’s help, if the clumsy application of the Samwell-red frosting is any indication. “Guys,” she says, touched.
Ransom slings an arm around Holster’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Lards.”
“And as an additional present, I won’t even insist on singing,” Holster adds.
She laughs. “Thanks.”
“Make a wish,” Ransom prompts.
Lardo thinks for a minute.
She feels warm and safe and happy, and knows the hot bath has nothing to do with it. The looming spectre of graduation seems suddenly less scary, here in this room with her best friends at her sides. In two months she’ll be moving in with Shitty, into an apartment she knows he’ll let her cover with paint and weird sculptures just to piss off his dad. Rans and Holster will be in Boston with them, close enough for lunch or drinks or just a night of Samwell-reminiscent debauchery. All her best friends in one place, these giant dudes she loves with her whole heart.
Maybe they can even do this again sometime.
Maybe Shitty will even join them.
Lardo grins, makes a wish, and blows the candle out.