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love is (coming home in time for tea)

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John sighed as he looked up at the house, illuminated softly in the dark by the many lights that were burning brightly from behind the windows. There was no way all of the rooms were in use, and he could feel the old frustration at rehearsed bickering over the electricity bill sliding about at the back of his mind. One of the small stresses that came with living with other people and the petty grievances of adulthood. The kind of small stress which didn’t matter at all until it was ten o’clock at night and one of the kids had been difficult about going to bed; the kind that somehow always ended up being the topic you picked a not-shouting match over across the kitchen table because you were frustrated and why not?

He paused at the gate and took a breath, imagined the stress and annoyance flowing out of him as he breathed out. Taking the worries of work — the simmering irritation that resulted from hours upon hours of negotiating with executives and wrangling figures that just didn’t want to balance like the accountants wanted them to — through the front door was ill advised. Nothing could turn exhausted pissiness into being locked in the study with a carton of beer quite like three overtired under four’s clamouring for attention.

He’d called home at lunch, a hurried affair that had had Dom promising to try and have all the kids down for the night before he got home. Trying to talk through a mouthful of curried eggs and dry bread, a concoction that had been pushed into his hand by a too-nice assistant in a too-short skirt, he has thought that was a little overkill. He was only going to be a couple of hours late and he liked to see the kids before they went to bed where possible. He and Roger spent so much time away from home that there was a constant low lying sense of guilt in the pit of his gut that reared its head with a vengeance whenever he willingly gave up time with them. Roger, he knew, felt much the same. But then Roger was so hands on, so genuinely interested in the babbles of Jackie, even though she wouldn’t be forming words for a few months yet. So genuinely engaged with the countless pictures that Robbie presented to him every evening, holding them in the harsh light of the bathroom as Robbie scrubbed at his teeth with more enthusiasm than technique, declaring each one a masterpiece — sitting up in bed and explaining to Dom as she breastfed that, look, you can see how he’s begun to adhere to the lines now! And wasn’t that amazing? — and making his requests for the next days work. Sometimes John felt like his own brand of fatherhood didn’t quite match up to Roger’s exuberant, constant displays of affection and pride that found their match in Robbie’s quick start grin, Victoria’s nightly demand of eskimo kisses, and even the surprisingly low cadence of Jackie’s cackle that had had Ronnie giggling into Dom’s hair that, “She’s inherited our lungs!”

It wasn’t fair to himself, John knew. He knew that Roger needed time to himself just as much as John did, time away from the kids, from him, from Ronnie and Dom. He knew that Roger spent just as much time as he did wondering how the hell Ronnie and Dom kept from going mad during the long months spent on tour, worrying that they were being horribly selfish in leaving them at home for the sake of a career that they, in all honesty, could probably make enough money off of without the touring and the constant stream of albums now that they’d made it big.

But as much as he knew all of these things standing here, outside the gate to the house they owned together and which homed their family, trying to pull together the remnants of his patience and energy that having a family required… John just didn’t want to go in. And all of the knowledge that he held about the ways the other felt the same sometimes paled in comparison to the feeling of his own personal failure.

The light from the living room was flickering around the closed curtains, a sure sign that the television was on which meant, at least, that the kids were all most likely in bed. The idea of getting to curl up around a warm body on the sofa had him unlatching the gate and trudging up the path to the front door. He’d make it up to the kids, to himself, by making pancakes in the morning. Jackie was just about being started on solids now, had had the time of her little life just the other morning gumming on some mashed up banana as Ronnie and Roger had mirrored her facial expressions back to her in unconscious encouragement that had Dom meeting his amused expression with her own exasperation.

He unlocked the door quietly, wincing at the jangle of his keys as he went, and carefully jimmied it back into place. Winter was almost on them, and the cold had the wood warping enough to be a pain in the arse when the kids were asleep.

No greeting met him from the living room which gave him pause as he toed off his shoes. No greeting either meant that the television had been left on needlessly and the others were all upstairs, or it meant that the kids were being difficult and noise was a no-go.

Or, he discovered, as he walked into the living room to check… or it meant that Roger was sat up against the sofa, naked with his legs splayed akimbo on the floor, with Ronnie sat on his cock as they watched Eastenders.

He stopped in the doorway and blinked.

Dom was on the sofa, one hand propping up her head as she watched the telly and the other carding through Roger’s hair soothingly. On second glance, it appeared that only Dom was actually watching the television. Roger’s eyes were glazed over, fingers grasping at the carpeting with Ronnie half collapsed against his chest, her head thrown back to press small kisses against his throat.

“Oh, hi John,” Dom said nonchalantly, tilting her head to look at him. As she did so she tugged on Roger’s hair.

It was like watching dominoes fall.

Roger’s head went back, following the pull of Dom’s fingers instinctively as his hips bucked in response. Ronnie, her head nestled up under his jawline line, whimpered. John could tell, tracing the curve of her legs that were thrown over Roger’s and leaving her splayed wide open for his cock, that she tightened at the action — her thighs trembled, her toes curled. Roger let out a noise that could be generously described as a groan, but more realistically as a sob. Dom let his hair go, flipping over fully onto her front to prop her chin on her elbows. Roger’s head lolled backwards, fingers scrambling for purchase on the carpet as Ronnie began rolling her hips and letting out breathy moans.

Dom kicked her ankles up and shot him an all too innocent grin, “How was work?”

“Yeah,” John said, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. Three years now and the sight of them still had him breathless in the best of ways. “Yeah, alright. Good.”

“Good,” said Dom, legs still kicking as she smiled at him and John…. Dom was beautiful, one of the most beautiful women in the world. First thing in the morning or last thing at night; all made up for a dinner or unshowered and dabbing spit-up off of her shirt; watching Eastenders or laying back and teasing herself with a vibrator as she told Roger and Ronnie what she wanted them to do. Dom was beautiful, but Roger and Ronnie were the true masterpieces of this particular scene. The sly cut to Dom’s eyes let him know she knew it too.

Nothing said ‘welcome home, darling’ like the sight of Ronnie slicked with sweat and desperately chasing another orgasm as Roger, light pink trailing across his chest and up his neck, tried so hard to please even as his shuddered breathes and flushed cheeks let John know that he’d almost definitely come at least twice already tonight.

Ronnie’s moans began to take shape, “Rog, Rog. Roggie, please—”

Roger’s breaths also sped up, Ronnie undulating her hips against him faster as she tried to give herself some relief. He was looking up at Dom, clearly looking for her to tell him what to do.

Dom raised an eyebrow at John.

“The kids are at Mary’s for the night,” she said softly, sweeping a stray hair from Roger’s eyes but otherwise giving him no sign that she was aware he needed instruction. “We all needed a break, I think.”

“Please,” said Roger, finally. He, too, was now looking at John. His pupils blown wide as sweat caused his fringe to stick about his face, his chest heaving against Ronnie’s back. “Please, I ca— I can’t,” he whimpered, breaking on the last word as Ronnie ground down.

John darted another glance up to Dom who wiggled three fingers at him, her ever present smile turning slightly smug. He couldn’t help but be impressed, even not knowing how long they’d been going for. Even if they’d been taking it slow, making Roger come three times and still ready for him when he came home was… It was something new.

It wasn’t his own oversensitivity that had Roger squirming under Ronnie though, not really. Roger enjoyed the spark of nerves that skirted on pain; he tended to lean in where other’s recoiled, revelling in the lightheadedness that came from fighting his own responses — from ignoring his own discomfort for the pleasure of his partners. No, what had Roger squirming was that he wasn’t giving Ronnie what she needed. Fingers pulling desperately on the carpet, hips torturously still, John could only guess what rules Dom had established before he’d gotten home.

“Use your fingers on her,” he rasped out, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. Roger wasted no time, both hands immediately finding their place on her. One hand went to her tits, rolling a nipple just the way she liked it, while the other went between her legs. “How many?” he asked Dom, jerking his head at Ronnie who had melted back into Roger completely and returned to kissing messily at his neck as he did his best to give her what she wanted.

Dom shrugged as she sat up, setting her legs either side of Roger’s shoulders and scrunching up the oversized tee she had on to settle her vibrator back against her clit. She sighed and let herself fall back, rubbing a foot against Roger’s shoulder as she said: “Lost count.”

Roger ducked his head just slightly to press an approximation of a kiss to Dom’s calf, leaning his forehead against it as Ronnie trembled against him. Ronnie’s mindless mouthing at his neck came to stop in sputters and spurts as she began to tense. The beauty of relationships, of knowing someone’s body almost better than they themselves did was in being able to say, “Roger, stop.”

“No,” Ronnie sobbed, reaching down petulantly, desperately, to encourage Roger to continue.

“‘M sorry,” Roger mumbled, rubbing his cheek against her hair as his hands went back to the carpet. “‘M sorry, it’ll be good, though. Ron, Ron; promise, Deaks will make it so good.”

With a promise like that, how could John resist?

He made his way over to them, long strides that had him falling to his knees between their legs in three steps. Somehow being fully dressed made this feel dirtier, being on his knees for them. He leaned forwards to hook his arms under Roger’s legs, tugging sharply to bring the both of them sliding forward and leaving him breathing in the scent of Roger and Ronnie together. Almost disinterestedly he traced a finger around Ronnie’s entrance, feeling the way she fluttered around Roger’s cock, watching as Roger pressed small, short kisses into her hair.

Ronnie ground down again, her legs falling backwards towards her chest as Roger drew his knees up unprompted to give John better access. John met his gaze, something warm building in his chest as he thought of how good Roger was at giving them all just what they needed. He nestled in closer again, but this time he licked a steady stripe from where the two of them were joined together to her clit.

“John,” Ronnie moaned, one her hands coming down to grasp at his hair for all of a second before she moved it to her chest as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do. He lapped just lightly to the side of her clit, ever so slightly off centre — this oversensitised she probably couldn’t handle much direct stimulation, or even if she could she’d come in no time at all. It was better to play it safe. “Babe. Babe, you’re so good. Rog,” her eyelashes brushed against Roger’s throat as she babbled, her feet arching where they dangled over his legs. “Rog, you were right,” she slurred, hand coming back down to tangle in John’s hair. “He’s so good, so good.”

Settling in he looked up at the picture they made, the three of them above him and considered just what it was he wanted from them. Ronnie, he knew, wasn’t up for much more. She was on the brink of coming again, with him lazily tracing the alphabet against her like a virgin at the school disco. Dom wasn’t comfortable yet, not fully. It was something they were going to have to work on, getting her comfortable with her body again post-baby. But she was more comfortable with Ronnie; more comfortable with Ronnie who had been through the same thing twice now, had the same hangups, the same concerns. And Roger….

He tested again at the way Ronnie was stretched around Roger before slipping a finger in along side, and he could feel himself get impossibly harder at the sight of Roger’s come spilling out and along his finger. It dripped down the back of his hand as he leant his head against Ronnie’s thigh to watch the two of them react.

“F-fuck,” Ronnie stuttered, her face screwing up just a little as she tried to chase his mouth. “John, please. John? John, your mouth.”

Roger bucked his hips up, whining loudly as Dom reached down to tug at his hair again in reprimand.

“It’s okay,” John soothed, pumping his finger slowly more for the joy of seeing Roger try and stay still at the added stimuli, Ronnie still doing her best from her position to fuck herself on him. Sitting back on his heels he stroked a hand down Roger’s thigh, massaging lightly. “You’re doing so well, Rog. You’ve stayed so still for us, the best we could ask for.”

Roger gave him a breathless smile as Dom’s touch turned soothing again, and John couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of her vibrator being turned up a setting. Contemplatively he brushed a second finger against Roger’s cock. Even if he finished Ronnie off here, and it would be easy to, she’d quite happily go down on Dom for hours if given the opportunity.

“John,” Ronnie begged, cutting his thoughts short and tugging lightly at his own hair to try and get his attention.

Sighing he pulled out, ducking to press a kiss to the soft skin at the back of Roger’s knee when he let out a barely audible whine. Grabbing Ronnie’s feet he tugged her legs back over Roger’s, smiling softly as Roger fumbled to lower his legs helpfully. Standing he pulled Ronnie up, steadying her as she stumbled against him with all the grace of a newborn foal.

“John,” she said again, petting at his shirt uselessly with his hands held loosely around her wrists. “John, please. Babe.”

He pulled her hands away from his chest, held them close between them with one hand and stroked a careful hand across her cheek as her face crumpled. She pressed herself against him fully, “Plea—”

John cut her off with a kiss. In contrast to the still soft caress of his hand on her face, his kiss was unkind. Teetering on the edge of punishing, he bit down on her bottom lip and pulled back — just far enough that she was left to look up at him through her eyelashes, just far enough that she had to wait.

She blinked up at him for a long moment that stretched between them, Dom and Roger fading away. Then he let go.

“Go to Dom,” he said gently, spinning her around on her unsteady legs and giving her a light slap on the arse as she went. Her thighs glistened with the mess she and Roger had made, and for a moment he couldn’t help but regret not finishing what he’d started. “She’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” said Dom, her voice pitched just slightly too high to pass for casual. There was colour high on her cheeks, and the fabric of her tee had grown damp across the chest. John could only be grateful that she appeared to have been too transfixed by the sight of Veronica and he to notice. Much like him Dom wasn’t all that much of a fan of being out of control, or not for long anyway. It had been over a year now, he supposed, since her body had last been entirely her own. He genuinely couldn’t even begin to imagine how that would feel.

“Well,” said John, as he unbuttoned his shirt. He shucked it, chucking it behind himself. The room darkened just slightly, and turning slightly he could see that his shirt had landed on the television. “Someone has to look after Roger.”

“Do they?” asked Dom, but her attention had been successfully diverted. Ronnie pushed lightly at her shoulder, hiking her tee up and over her boobs. Discomfort crossed her face as she realised that she’d leaked, but she let herself be pushed into laying down as Ronnie hovered above her.

“Your tits,” Ronnie groaned, sucking a mark on the top of one where it would be plainly visible to all and sundry if she wore a low cut top as she ground herself down on Dom’s thigh. “Are amazing, I fucking hate you.”

“You know what’s also amazing to suck on?” Dom asked, embarrassment fading as quickly as it had appeared as Ronnie showed no hesitation to lave her chest with all the enthusiasm and appreciation that had been present pre-baby. Unbuckling his belt as he watched them, John found himself trying to figure out how Dom had avoided this before now.

“I can make an educated guess,” Ronnie replied, pausing to leave a matching mark on her other breast.

Maybe she had been expressing milk every time? But then, he couldn’t see how she could possibly know every time one of them wanted to fuck. There were four of them, at any given time one of them was almost definitely raring and ready to go. It was a gift and a curse.

“Hey,” Dom called out, sighing as Ronnie settled down to nudge her legs open with her shoulders. “Get out of your head, I thought you were looking after someone?”

Looking down at Roger, splayed exactly where he’d left him, he thought today it swung closer to gift.

A bottle of lube hit against his chest and he thought maybe not. He raised an eyebrow at Dom, but it was no use — she was otherwise occupied.

He pushed down his trousers, stepping out of them and leaving them where they lay.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why I had to go without underwear today would you, Rog?” he asked as he settled down on his knees again between his spread legs. He put his hands just above his thighs, trailing his hands across and letting the soft hairs of Roger’s legs catch on his palms. Roger’s breath hitched. He’d gone soft while John dealt with Ronnie; to be expected, especially if Dom hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. But with just the promise of touch, John could see him responding.

“Same reason we all did,” he replied, leaning in ever so slightly. He was cold now, John could see. His skin was covered in goosebumps, and John supposed that he was likely missing Ronnie’s body on his own.

“And that is?” John prompted, letting one finger fall low enough to make proper contact. Skin to skin, even just barely, Roger shuddered.

“Dom forgot to set the dryer off last night,” he said, eyes fluttering closed momentarily as John let the full weight of his palms fall onto his legs. He smoothed them upwards and held onto Roger’s hips.

“Oh,” he said softly. He leaned into Roger fully, tilting his head to bite sharply at his jaw, “That’s okay then. As long as you’ve been good.” He nosed briefly at the soft skin just below his ear, breathed in the sweet-sharp scent of sex, and sweat, and Roger. “I want you to be good.”

Roger hummed, a low purr of a thing that had John amused as he realised he wasn’t sure whether or not talking was included in being good. Dom’s hand had snuck back into Roger’s hair while he wasn’t paying attention, tugging and pulling at the strands as she reacted to whatever Ronnie was doing to her. She had a thing for Roger’s hair, had thrown a nigh on fit the day he’d come home with it all cut off. Had spent weeks complaining she had nothing to pull on anymore, refusing to accept John’s hair as an acceptable substitute until, in a fit of pettiness, he’d chopped his off as well.

“Sorry, love,” he said, tapping at her wrist. “I’m borrowing him.”

“He’s yours,” Dom said with a smile, reaching down and burying her hand in Ronnie’s locks instead. God only knew what she’d do if Veronica decided to go mod and join them.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” John told Roger, smoothing his fringe back from his face. He ghosted a kiss over the arch of Roger’s brow and reached down to take Roger into his hand fully and steadily. Roger let out a hiss, stomach contracting as he fought not to move away from John’s touch — fought to stay still and be good. John kept his hand still, a loose fist around Roger’s cock as he watched the tightness dissipate from around Roger’s eyes. Slowly he relaxed into John’s touch, though his breathing stayed shallow. “Okay?”

Roger nodded frantically, almost knocking into John’s nose as he did so.

“Use your words, Rog,” John told him, tapping his knee lightly.

“Yes,” Roger exhaled raggedly, eyes blown wide as they darted over John’s face. “Yes, yes. Yes.”

“Okay,” John said softly, eyes glued to Roger’s face as he moved to run his thumb across his slit. He was tacky to the touch; not dry, but not slick either. Watching his mouth fall open as he let out a high pitched whine at the sensation John reached for the lube — he knew Roger could usually take it, the catch and drag of not-wet skin against skin that was just the right side of pleasurable, but he’d never seen Roger quite this far gone before. Eyes flicking momentarily to Dom, who had her head thrown to the side as she watched them, John couldn’t help but wonder if Dom had or if this was new for her as well.

He always got a little thrill from exploring something with them that they hadn’t experienced with one another before. Each taste of new felt like a brick in this home they were building with one another, even after years together.

Popping the cap open he let the lube pour freely onto Roger’s cock, watching again as Roger fought not to flinch back from the sensation. The shock of cold lube on overheated skin sending him shuddering against John, his foot kicking out as he tried to stay still. John gave him a stroke, tightening his grip as he went for the pleasure of watching Roger arch up against him even as something close to a sob ripped its way out of his throat. He let go to trail his hand down, another ghost of touch as he moved over Roger’s balls to press suddenly against his perineum. Roger whined again, collapsing forward to rest his head in the crook of John’s neck.

“Okay?” John asked again, and behind Roger Dom shook her way through her first orgasm — her hand flung out once more as if to grip Roger’s hair as she clutched at thin air.

Roger nodded against him, his forehead pressed against him to such a degree that it felt as if he were trying to climb into John’s skin. That, or he genuinely couldn’t hold his own weight any longer.

John wasn’t sure which idea appealed to him the most.

“Yes,” Roger whispered, barely more than an exhale.

John hummed in acknowledgement, and steadying him with one hand to his hip he smoothed his other down Roger’s back. He pulled gently, encouraging Roger to settle over his lap as Roger sighed against him, tension dissipating along the trail John made down the line of his spine.

“You tired?” John asked softly, pressing into Roger with one finger without warning. He hadn’t thought it possible, but Roger melted even further against him at the intrusion as he spread his legs further across John’s own.

He murmured something inaudible into John’s skin but his hands, until now mostly limp by his side, came up to rest against John’s rib cage where he let his fingers trail down rib by rib until he had them settled on the slight dip of his waist. A silent affirmation, but one which asked for him to continue in the unspoken language of lovers; the tongue by which more could be communicated in a single touch than could be conveyed with a thousand words.

John added another finger, slower this time in case Roger needed time to adjust. Roger barely reacted, boneless against him as he let John open him up. It was an awful angle, all told, but it worked for John’s needs just fine — at this point in the evening direct, recurring prostate stimulation would likely be too much in one way or another. As much fun as it was to fuck into Roger as he sobbed his way through overt overstimulation, fucking himself back even as his body tried to get him to stop, John didn’t want that tonight. He wanted this to last.

Not when he’d been so good for Ronnie. Ronnie with her come smeared thighs and wild eyes, panting into Dom’s mouth as they shared the vibrator and watched the two of them as John prepared Roger. Ronnie who, John could see, was staining the sofa beneath her a darker shade of blue as come continued to trickle out of her slowly, mixing still with the spoils of her own arousal.

He pumped his fingers slowly, shallowly for a time that could have been moments, minutes, hours. A groan from Dom broke the spell, and he dragged his other hand from Roger’s hip to his jaw to bring him in for a kiss. It was barely a kiss on Roger’s part; a messy thing that quickly turned into little more than sharing one another’s air.

He’d need more lube for a third finger, he could tell. Or, maybe he wouldn’t need it, but he wanted it. He wanted Roger as thoroughly fucked out and sloppy as he’d made Ronnie; wet, and open, and feeling empty for days. He scissored his fingers lazily, smearing lube around his rim almost absently with his thumb and watching Roger’s eyelids droop as he tried to keep himself from giving into completely to the sensation of John stretching him open patiently. He was beautiful like this in a way that was hard to describe. What words could do justice to the way he could, the way he would , give up control so completely and place all his trust in their hands? It was something none of the rest of them were quite capable of — none of them could give themselves up entirely, not the way Roger could. None of them would be satisfied going to bed having not come themselves, having not done as they’d wanted to do. John certainly wouldn’t let Ronnie ride him through three orgasms and then let her cock warm him because she wanted to stay full until their fourth came home.

“Do you think you could come for me again?” John asked against his lips, ducking a quick kiss to his bottom lip.

Roger blinked at him dopily all big doe eyes and tight, hot heat clenching down on his fingers.

“Right,” said John with a sudden grin, pulling his fingers out and pushing Roger off of his lap smoothly. Grabbing back onto his hips he flipped him around, all uncoordinated limbs and the syrupy sweet languinity that seemed to settle over him in these moments. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Two of the sofa cushion flopped down the floor, a gift from Dom who had Ronnie sat in the V of her own legs. She was pressing the vibrator against her irregularly, a sure hand now holding her head in position to watch he and Roger on the floor. Ronnie was panting softly, hips canting as she attempted to gain some kind of control over what Dom was doing to her.

“Watch them,” Dom said, brushing her lips over the shell of Ronnie’s ear as she spoke. “You can come when Roger does.”

“‘S’not fair,” Ronnie moaned, hands clenching uselessly at Dom’s thighs as she continued to try and rock against the vibrator. John shuffled one of the proffered sofa cushions under Roger’s hips, running a soothing hand between his shoulder blades as he cried out at the feeling of the fabric against his cock. He placed the other next to Roger’s face, which he’d buried into the carpet. “What if Rog can’t come again?”

“Put it under your head, baby,” John told Roger, nudging the cushion a tad closer. Roger turned his head to look at it for a long moment before reaching out and grabbing it. “Okay?”

“Hmmm,” hummed Dom, letting go of Veronica’s chin to restrain one of her hands that had begun inching over from Dom’s thigh to her own. “That would be a shame.”

“I hate you,” Veronica whined, turning her head petulantly and closing her eyes against Dom’s throat.

“Yes,” said Roger, his arms moving to slide under the cushion John had given him as he rest his head on it. He turned his head to the side, no longer at risk of suffocating himself in the carpet or the pillow, and spread his legs wider for John.

“Love you too, babe,” Dom replied.

John reached for the lube again, it had rolled to a stop just to the side of them, and coated his fingers liberally. Wasting no time he pressed two fingers back into Roger, admiring the immediate arch of his back as he pushed in deeper than before. He leaned down to brush a dry kiss to the small of his back, scissoring his fingers again, before adding a third finger. Beneath him, Roger keened at the addition. John paused, and waited.

One second, two second, three seco— Roger pushed himself back onto his fingers, and John smiled. Careful still to avoid brushing against his prostate John continued opening him up, slow and methodical as he watched the micro-reactions playing out across the plains of Roger’s back. A shiver when he added a fourth finger; shoulder blades growing taut as he feigned a crook of his fingers that would get him where Roger wanted; the goosebumps that fanned out across his skin after John ran a fingertip lightly over his balls. It was times like this, as he was watching his hole flutter around the stretch of four fingers, taking him deep and easy like he was born for it, that John couldn’t believe he was allowed this. Dom and Ronnie above him, Roger underneath, and for a second all John could think on was how fucking lucky he was that this was his .

And then, four fingers fucking into Roger and making the most outrageous, filthy noises—

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Dom murmured into Ronnie’s hair, her eyes dark and steady on the mess that John was making of Roger. Her eye line wasn’t the best, to the front and above, but it became clear she knew John’s game as she continued. “Do you think he could fit his whole hand in?” she paused as Ronnie whimpered at her words and Roger bucked backwards, pushing John’s fingers past the tight ring of muscle past the third knuckle. He cried out weakly, slurring out something that was beyond comprehension.

John swore lowly at the sight, fighting the ever present urge to relieve the pressure on his own cock at the visual.

“He’s taken mine before,” Dom continued, her voice unfairly steady for the impact her words were having on the three of them. Ronnie had stopped trying to rock onto the vibrator, struck still by the idea and staring at the two of them her mouth agape and her eyes wide. John ran his thumb around Roger’s rim on his next thrust, considering. “But John’s hands are so much bigger, imagine how full Rog would be.”

Roger’s breath hitched as John pressed with his thumb as if to try and add it.

“Please,” Ronnie breathed out, still watching as if transfixed by the sight, the idea. “John, please.”

John waited, keeping his thumb still.

Please,” Ronnie begged.

“No,” he said, at length, when Roger didn’t also beg. He’d said he was going to take care of him, and he would. There would be other nights to put on a show for the girls, another night to see if Roger could take his hand. For now he settled down. Spreading his fingers wide he licked a sure stripe from Roger’s balls to his hole and, using his fingers to hold him open, and pressed his tongue inside.

Roger went immediately rigid, his thigh muscles going taut as his back bowed. He whined loudly, incoherent babbles making their way from his mouth as he gave up the ghost entirely on supporting his upper body. His face collapsed once more into the cushion as he tried to press John’s tongue into himself further, his body shaking almost violently as John finally let a finger brush along his prostate.

John thrust into him lazily with his tongue for a few moments more before leaning back and taking his fingers from him also. Roger let out an almost mournful groan, practically chasing John’s fingers with a backward scooch of his hips as he realised what was happening.

“No, no, no, no” he slurred out, head moving to the side once more. “Come back.”

John smoothed a hand down his back again, and Roger settled down again even as he continued to let out pitiful moans. He was so far gone that he was rocking his hips back and forth on thin air just for the spark of friction that he was gaining from his cock rubbing along his abdomen. John found himself wondering, even as he lubed up his own cock, if Roger could get himself off just like that. Given how oversensitive he was, he probably could.

That could be saved for another night as well.

Thankful for the extra couple of inches he had on Roger in height, John plastered himself along his back to tuck his head over his shoulder. The head of his cock rubbed tantalisingly against Roger’s entrance and the urge to push in was almost overwhelming, “Yes?”

Roger’s face was a mess, fringe stuck to his overheated skin with sweat, and tears, and saliva. His lips were bitten almost raw which rendered them almost too pretty to ignore, and the age old fight erupted in the back of John’s mind over whether he should perhaps abandon his current course and fuck Roger’s mouth instead. But, no. Not when Roger was so slick and open, ready to take him so very easily.

“Yes,” Roger breathed back at him, eyes just barely open as his finger tightened their hold on the cushion below his head. “Please, yes. I need—” he cut himself off, brow furrowing and his hips bucked back against John again. John hissed at the pressure against his cock. “I don’t—”

“I know, baby,” John murmured, drawing back to steady his cock at Roger’s entrance with his hand. It was a somewhat awkward position, Roger still slumped chest down on the floor with on of John’s hands pressing down on his shoulder and his hips hiked in the air, but something in John needed to see him held down, if only for a short while. “I’ll give you what you need, it’s okay.”

There was something addictive about the first stroke. When his partner was ready for him, had been made loose and eager. Because when he’d done his job properly? The way their bodies beckoned him in, walls contracting to take him deeper? There was nothing better.

He bottomed out in one go, Roger boneless beneath him and opening up so beautifully for his cock that the idea of using him as he’d been used before, to just sit inside of him almost felt tempting. Until, of course, Roger tilted his hips up further shuddering under his touch as he used John’s cock for his own pleasure as if to remind John not to be selfish.

John straightened up, taking his hand from Roger’s should to hold his hips properly.

A low murmur caught his attention, and he spared Dom and Ronnie a glance. Ronnie had her eyes closed, head tilted back against Dom’s shoulder as she continued to tease her with the vibrator. Now, however, Dom was narrating what John was doing to Roger to Ronnie instead of letting her watch for herself. The realisation, and Dom’s ever steady gaze, had him snapping his own hips without meaning.

Underneath him Roger moaned lowly, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the cushion as his legs attempting to part impossibly further. Another thrust and he was tilting his hips again, angling for john to hit his prostate in exactly the way that John had been avoiding all night. But John could already feel that now he was inside of him this wasn’t going to last long. The vestiges of the tension he’d carried into the house with him had been slipping away piece by piece as he’d put himself back together through the act of taking Roger and Ronnie apart. The control that had had him opening Roger up torturously slow was cracking and the urge to bury himself in Roger again and again until he himself shook apart was much too strong to ignore.

He hiked Roger’s hips up where he’d been trying to get them, not having had the leverage to support them himself. Finger’s pressed into the divots of Roger’s hips hard enough to bruise he let himself get almost lost in the sloppy, slick heat which was made only better by Roger’s sudden responsiveness as he brushed his prostate with each stroke.

Roger had been reduced to small punched out sobs, thrusting back to meet John even as his torso twisted at the sudden brutal nature of John’s attention to his prostate. John met Dom’s eye as he felt his orgasm begin to build, his balls tightening and the discomfort from his knees from being positioned on them for so long disappearing far from his mind. Dom shot him a wink and pressed the vibrator hard and sure against Ronnie as John let go of Roger’s hip to run a calloused finger over his slit.

Ronnie came with a gasp, a strangled sound that stuttered in the air as Dom allowed her the freedom to ride through the aftershocks. She collapsed back against Dom with a sigh, pushing the vibrator away from herself as the sensation became too much.

John continued to press into Roger, his pace punishing as Roger grew rigid beneath him. Like a bowstring, his muscles pulled underneath the skin until it seemed almost as if he had stopped even breathing. A flick of John’s wrist sent him over the edge, and he came silently — only perceptible in the aftermath, as he went limp underneath John almost completely.

Giving him another few strokes, John moved almost instinctively to smear Roger’s come across his stomach. Roger had a thing for it; he loved cleaning them up, using his mouth to clean up the mess he’d made of them, or that they’d made of each other — and he adored the tacky pull of dried come on himself the morning after. It was disgusting, and filthy, and hot as all fuck.

His fingers, however, hit the smooth skin of Roger’s abdomen which was, other than sweat, dry.

The realisation that Roger had come dry had John’s hips stuttering, his orgasms hitting him suddenly. The slow wave which had been building ever since he’d walked through the living room door became a tsunami in the space of a second. He curled over Roger, his vision greying out as the force of it left him breathless.

“Fuck,” he panted as the fog lifted, still pressing into Roger heavily. “Fuck.”

“I’ll say,” said Dom, and there was a lit cigarette being held in front of him.

He blinked at her hazily, peeling a hand from Roger’s side to accept the fag.

“He’s out,” Dom continued, nodding at Roger. A fond smile was curling around her lips as she looked down at him, Ronnie laid down alongside her on the sofa apparently similarly out for the count. “You literally fucked him into unconsciousness.”

“Fuck,” John repeated eloquently, wincing as he pulled out. There was no dignified way to take your rapidly softening cock out of someone, and it always let John wishing he could go temporarily deaf. The sound that were hot during the act somehow became decidedly less so in the aftermath.

Carefully he shifted Roger over and onto his side. Dom reached out and took the cigarette from him again.

“So,” she said, taking a drag. “How was work?”

John laughed, and let himself fall backwards onto his arse in a careless sprawl: “I went to work today?”