For once, everything had been going perfectly smoothly — until that EMP blast hit their medics. Now Genji’s orders were to stay put and bodyguard both until extraction.
The building was cold and full of rubble, but at least it was free of enemies and far from the site of their firefight. Lúcio was heavy on his back, feet knocking against Genji’s knees every so often until Genji finally found a place to set his limp body down.
Genji knew he was fretting, checking Lúcio’s pulse and breathing again and again. Both were perfectly steady, but he had not woken up.
“He’ll be fine, you know,” Baptiste said. He sounded like he thought this was all very funny.
“I know. I only—” Genji stopped there, sighing. “I know. And you?”
“Nothing serious, just banged up.” Baptiste shifted his weight and couldn’t hide the wince. He wasn’t moving from where he sat propped against the crumbling wall.
“You are lying.” Genji couldn’t do much about it either way. He dug through the small pack Lúcio carried; he did have bandages but not much else. Not with the equipment down. They would have to talk about his reliance on tech; Genji was of course aware of the irony, and grateful once again that he had been out of range, hot on the heels of an enemy agent, when the pulse went off.
He had been hit by an EMP before, and he would happily go the rest of his life without experiencing that again.
Genji awoke to that smell. He hated that smell. Sterile but sharp, often overlaying the scent of people dying.
Fluorescent lights shone coldly on him, and his body felt— it felt— he couldn’t move. His legs didn’t work, his right arm, his fucking back . But at least he could feel his left arm a bit, judging from the familiar cold of an IV drip. The cannula bulged from the back of his hand — the only place to safely find a real vein if they were unfamiliar with his body.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Genji cut his eyes toward the voice, and a dark face floated into his vision, handsome enough that he noticed even in his current state. Being handsome didn’t change that he was unfamiliar; Genji tried vainly to make his body move again. “Hey, hey, hey, you’re safe here. I’ve got you.” A warm hand closed cautiously around his wrist. When Genji flexed, the grip did not move. Strong then, or Genji was weaker than he thought right now. “Can you talk?”
His throat burned — a feeling he’d come to associate with intubation, although he was grateful he hadn’t woken up with the mask still on — but his mouth, at least, could move. “Yes,” he rasped.
The stranger winced in sympathy. “Technically, yes. Realistically, let’s make sure you don’t have to, yeah?” He beamed down, and Genji supposed most patients found his smile soothing. “I’m told you like to see your charts.” He pulled up a holo screen of his notes. Genji could not read the language they were in, but to the side a translator was hard at work providing the same text in Japanese. “You were hit with an electromagnetic pulse. Blast took out all your mechanical and cybernetic parts. Dr. Ziegler is a mutual acquaintance, and she’s talking me through how to get you back online.”
Rage roared through him at his helpless, useless body, but he could focus on the charts in front of him. He could let the medic’s voice wash over him as he droned on about the steps he had already taken and the procedures left to explore.
“You’re in good hands,” the man assured him, and Genji tried to believe it.
Baptiste’s kit was better stocked than Lúcio’s. Alongside more bandages, Genji found a small tube of expensive biotic gel and a single biotic emitter. Analog measures to go along with his presently useless healing tech.
“Give your boyfriend the can. It’s enough for a concussion at least.”
The emitter was one of the smaller models; it would work quickly, but it would not go far. Genji twisted the canister until it glowed, then he set it on the floor where Lúcio lay and backed carefully away to let it do its work. “There is enough gel for your scrapes and bruises. Maybe enough for that shoulder you are favoring.”
“Are you the medic now?”
“I’ve spent enough time injured. I have picked up a few things.”
That got Baptiste to smile, and Genji looked away again.
“It’s Friday night. Time to cut loose,” Baptiste announced with a smile. Genji struggled up into a sitting position, biting down on a groan. Although Baptiste had gotten his spine and right arm working, his legs remained out of commission. Still, even only half mobile and aching all over, this was better than it had been.
“Mm, yeah, time for you to take your pain meds. I know how loopy you get after, so you’re gonna enjoy that ride, I’m gonna enjoy this Mai Tai, and we’re going to watch the worst movie we can find. In English, probably, unless you don’t mind subtitles.”
The observation about the pain medication was true enough, but Genji thought the rest was a joke until Baptiste kicked his feet up and produced a vivid orange drink. It was the sort that might normally be served with a bright, fruity garnish, maybe out of a coconut or with a paper umbrella. Here in Genji’s room at the clinic, Baptiste drank it out of a hard plastic cup with a lid firmly in place.
“I have enough stress in my day. Don’t need to do horror. But I’ll let you pick: shitty action or shitty romcom?”
Genji watched him for a moment, eyeing the dimple beside his mouth and the brightness of his grin. “You want the shitty romcom, don’t you?”
“I asked what you wanted, but yeah, of course. I love a good meet cute.” Baptiste winked, and Genji felt his face go hot.
He picked the romantic comedy.
“Are you going to let me look you over?” Genji asked.
That dimple appeared beside Baptiste’s mouth, and only then did Genji realize the double entendre. He was grateful for the mask; hot as it was inside it, he had to be blushing. Baptiste didn’t need to see.
“I will be fine. It’s nothing serious.”
“You have not moved your arm this entire time. What happens if we are attacked? Can you fight with one arm?”
Caught out, Baptiste heaved a sigh, then he seemed to rally himself. “I always was a terrible patient,” he muttered. “Alright. Bring the gel.”
Upon closer inspection, the shoulder turned out to be dislocated. “Biotics alone will not fix this.”
“I know. It’s why I’m fine waiting for the team.”
“I know how to set it. You should not—” He paused then, unsure how to continue. Somehow it felt like it was his fault they were injured. He didn’t know how to voice it though; Baptiste had never liked to hear him say those things. “You shouldn’t have to be in pain for the wait. It will be several hours, at least.”
Baptiste nodded, and he let Genji remove his scarf so he could see better. It might be easier without the armor as well, but that was perhaps too far, all things considered.
Baptiste wanted him to stay a few more days to ensure he had made a full recovery, but after so long immobilized, Genji was eager to get back to his life. From the rage and fear he had felt in the hospital bed, he knew he still needed Zenyatta. And Zenyatta needed a bodyguard, although Genji would never say as much aloud to him. He had promised his master they would travel together after Genji returned to Nepal.
“Compromise with me, then. Give me another twenty-four hours. Then I’ll let you go.”
“ Let me?” Genji asked with a laugh. “You cannot stop me now.”
“You’re right. I’m too nice to strongarm the recently feeble.”
Genji laughed again. Baptiste was good at making him laugh. Few people were these days, and even fewer since he had left Overwatch. Only Angela had ever helped him see the humor in jokes about his body.
This was the reason Genji agreed to the twenty-four hours.
Part of him wanted to stay anyway. The part of him that noticed Baptiste’s dimples and the shape of his mouth and the powerful arms. It had been so long since he had even thought of another person that way. Since he had wanted .
This was not a body made for wanting, though. Genji had grown more used to it over the years, but he did not enjoy it. It was quite literally a high maintenance machine. Built for specific tasks, none of which required the sensitivity of thinner skin or bundles of nerves.
Genji knew what he had looked like years ago. He had been vain enough that he may have even overestimated his own attractiveness at times, but even on self-critical days, he had known other people wanted him. This body was not the one he’d spent honing relentlessly on the mat and at the weight bench. This one was sleek in its way, but it was not designed for beauty.
He didn’t even have a pretty face to make up for it. Pretty foundation, maybe. Most of the bone structure was still his. The eyes too. His eyebrows and lashes and hair had grown back in eventually, just as thick as before. But his lower jaw had been reinforced. Once-smooth skin was now riddled with white and pink scars, textured and shiny — like a topographical map, the geography of his family’s crimes burned onto his skin.
Had someone with a body like this approached him back then, back when he was vain and had every reason to be, he would have turned them away. He might have laughed. He would have been cruel.
Baptiste would not be cruel, but it was impossible to imagine he could look at Genji and feel attraction.
Genji had spent years furious and grieving over the things his body could no longer do. Over how much of it had been stolen from him. But only now did it sink in that his dutiful brother had taken this too: not the function of his body, but the form. He would never be desirable again.
Glass crunched and crumpled under his fist. Only a few pieces fell loose, with delicate tinkling sounds instead of the dramatic shatter he had expected. It wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped, and now he would have to apologize to Baptiste for breaking his mirror.
The instant Genji touched him, Baptiste straightened his posture. “Hold still,” Genji ordered, and Baptiste did as he was told with a good natured roll of his eyes.
Genji took him by the wrist and elbow, carefully maneuvering the awkwardly hanging arm. Beneath the receptors and through the fine mesh that covered Genji’s fingers, his skin felt warm. The muscles in his arm solid.
Genji vented out air. Too loudly, it seemed, from the way Baptiste looked at him. His hands stopped there, uncertainty gripping him. He had offered to do this out of guilt and some familiarity with getting put back together, but now that he was here he was afraid to hurt Baptiste by doing something wrong.
“To the side next,” Baptiste said quietly, staring straight ahead now. Genji slowly rotated the arm until Baptiste grunted. “Stop there.” It was easier this way; Baptiste had a knack for knowing when Genji needed him to take the reins.
“I like you. You know that, right?” Baptiste’s gaze was unwavering, his lips tilted into a smile. Genji could only stare back. “You’re no longer my patient, and it might be my last chance to say it, so I thought you should know.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Why tell me this?”
Baptiste shrugged. “I don’t have any expectations or anything. I just thought you needed to hear it before you left. For the sake of honesty. Between friends, if that’s what we are.”
Genji’s breath came up short. “I don’t— Yes, we are friends, and— I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I want to,” Genji said quickly. “I like you too. Very much. I was not expecting— It did not occur to me that it might be mutual.”
Baptiste laughed softly, and then his hand came to rest on Genji’s face — his real one, underneath the mask — and he moved closer. “I want to kiss you.”
Genji froze, plagued by all the things he’d thought before. But Baptiste was stroking a thumb over his scarred cheek, and still he said it. Genji stood frozen until he could no longer stand it.
Then he kissed Baptiste, fierce and full of longing for all the time he had missed out on. It was embarrassing and too intense and probably sloppy, and still Baptiste kissed him right back, pulled Genji closer against his big body and didn’t let go.
Baptiste’s fingers were hot against his skin, and they never paused, never fumbled as they passed from organic to synthetic material. As if every part mattered equally.
He knew the way to get the armor off already. Genji didn’t need to guide him through that part. He only needed to indulge, remind himself how another person could feel and smell and taste. In this place, with this person, he could remember that it was possible to enjoy existing in this body.
In the morning, he didn’t leave.
Baptiste’s arm was set now, and Genji quickly rubbed the biotic gel into his shoulder to speed the recovery. He did his best not to think about how it felt to touch him again. It was only a reminder that Baptiste was alive and well, solid under his hands. Genji’s heart thudded in his chest, his relief that the injury was an easy fix tangling with his guilt at what that relief revealed.
He’d done so well setting his feelings aside, acknowledging them as the remnants of something pleasant yet fleeting. But now he could not stop thinking about what could have been — and how devastated he would really be if something worse happened to Baptiste.
A tremor wracked Genji’s hand as he pulled it away. Psychosomatic, he thought. His enhancements ensured that his hands were always steady.
“All better?” he asked, resisting the urge to press his palms against his thighs. They wouldn’t be sweating either, and yet the phantom sense plagued them, as did the memory of hard muscle and smooth skin beneath them.
“All better,” Baptiste answered. He had watched Genji too closely, and now he wouldn’t look at all. His gaze roamed until it landed on Lúcio, and then his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you happy?” Baptiste never could bear to dance around things.
“I am.” It was true. Whatever memories existed here, whatever the feeling of Baptiste under his hands again had stirred up, he loved Lúcio. This nostalgia would pass, and Lúcio would still be Genji’s to care for.
“Good. You should be.” His smile was strained but genuine. He felt it too then, the current that passed between them. “You’re different now.”
“I should hope so.”
“Not so angry.”
Genji laughed and leaned back onto his heels, settling more comfortably into his squat. “I am still angry. I handle it better though.”
“Because of him?” Baptiste gestured with the good hand.
“He helps, although that is not his job. Because of Zenyatta.” Genji paused, and he could practically hear Zenyatta’s voice in his head. “And me. They both tell me I should take credit for the work I have done.”
Baptiste nodded, and his smile grew softer. Less strained. The dimple appeared again. “Good.” His eyes were soft too as they swept over Genji once more. “I’m happy for you then. You deserve it.” The earnestness with which he said it somehow made it sting more — made the fondness in his eyes feel too heavy.
They had parted ways amicably before. It had been for the best back then. Genji had not expected the feeling to come back. It did not replace what he felt for Lúcio nor even distract from it. Instead it sat alongside, a what if that suggested he could have been happy with either of them.
“Been meaning to ask.” Baptiste’s mouth quirked up, mischievous now. “How old is he anyway?”
It was a full-fledged grin now, and Baptiste swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You really have changed. I never took you for a cradle robber.”
“It’s been at least a year since I slept in a cradle,” Lúcio’s voice cut in, thick with sleep. Genji turned instantly to look him over, squashing his sudden anxiety. He had done nothing, said nothing that would betray Lúcio, but guilt settled its heavy weight on his shoulders nonetheless. Perhaps it was obvious, because Lúcio had to bat away his hands. “I’m fine.”
“I worried. You should not have been—”
“Oh, no, you are not gonna tell me what’s too reckless,” Lúcio groused, but there was a smile there too, and he reached for Genji’s hand.
“So you admit you were reckless.”
Lúcio made a show of rolling his eyes. “Take off your mask.”
“So I can see if you’re lying to me when I ask if you got hurt.”
Genji tried to sigh as dramatically as Lúcio had rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t maintain it without a small laugh. He unlatched the faceplate as requested. “I was not injured.”
“First time for everything.”
Baptiste’s chuckle cut through the moment, and it brought with it more of that thrill layered with guilt, a bolt of delight and cold shame running up his spine. Lúcio’s eyes were on Genji’s exposed face, no doubt taking in his every reaction.
“Ah, and here I thought you were the nice one,” Baptiste said.
“I am nice,” Lúcio shot back with a grin. “It’s way nice of me to remind him that half his injuries are bullshit and totally avoidable.”
Baptiste had that wide smile as he gave Lúcio an appraising look, but Genji caught him staring again later with an unknowable, far off look on his face.
The flight back was a blessed reprieve from the bittersweet tension Baptiste’s closeness inspired. Genji thought he might get a break from it altogether. He and Lúcio sat far from the others, sharing a blanket way in the back near the engine. Someone else might have left him in peace, but Lúcio was not that someone.
“So the new guy’s like stupidly hot, huh.” Lúcio said it as if he was commenting on the weather, but he kept his voice too quiet for anyone else to overhear past the roar of the engine.
“I suppose,” Genji answered stiffly.
The sound of Lúcio’s laugh made Genji flinch. “I’m not gonna get mad if you admit you think somebody else is hot. Especially when it’s like objectively true. He’s hot.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Did you two used to date or something?” Lúcio was still watching him, and the utter lack of judgment on his face somehow made it more difficult. “You really can’t make me mad here. I just wanna know.”
“We didn’t date. We only— we really liked one another. But it was a long time ago, and you and I—”
“Genji, mozão, I’m not looking for an apology.” Lúcio was smiling, and it was so bizarre that it distracted Genji from his nerves long enough to actually listen. “You think he’s hot, I think he’s hot, he like so obviously still thinks you’re hot. Pretty sure he thinks I am too. I feel like that’s pretty easy math.”
Genji’s face felt like it might be on fire. “I don’t.”
“Why? Because you’re still into him?” He knew his silence was more damning than any answer, but Lúcio’s eyes were so wide and understanding. “That’s fine too. I’m not— I guess we’ve never talked about it ’cause it never came up, but uh, that’s fine. With me. If it’s fine with you.” While Genji tried to gather his thoughts enough to respond, Lúcio barreled onward. “I mean, listen, I’d maybe feel weird if he was into you but didn’t want anything to do with me ever, because I don’t really wanna do it like that, but if there are two people who could make you happy and there’s some chance we could also make each other happy and maybe have some really good sex on the way, I’m not against it.”
Genji needed time to process it. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the concept, but it had never occurred to him that the solution would be so simple, nor offered so freely. He should not have been surprised though. It had always been like this between them, Lúcio walking him through the relationship step-by-step, because Genji’s own point of reference was too skewed to provide better than some extreme examples of what not to do.
But Lúcio was nothing if not unflinchingly honest about what he wanted from Genji. There was no reason to believe he was only doing this to smooth things over; he wouldn’t have brought it up at all if that was the case.
Genji thought about how he would feel about the last part — some chance we could also make each other happy — and he felt nothing bad. No fear, no insecurity. No jealousy at the prospect of Lúcio enjoying time with Baptiste.
His face grew hot again when the thoughts turned more sexual. No, he did not have a problem with any of this.
Lúcio read him like a book, if the way his mouth twitched was anything to go by. “So you don’t hate the idea.”
The tension escaped with Genji’s self-conscious chuckle. “Not at all. I like it very much. If you do too.”
“Pretty sure this conversation would’ve gone down a lot differently if I didn’t.” Lúcio grabbed for Genji’s hand again, fingers sliding between his like they belonged there.
After a moment, Genji said, “He was the first, you know. Since the attack.”
Lúcio squeezed his hand, mouth tilting in a sideways smile. “Then I guess I should find a way to thank him, huh?”
Once they were back at the Watchpoint and Angela had declared them all fit, Lúcio wanted to address it. “I can do the talking, if you need. And if you’re sure.”
It was fast, but Lúcio had never been one to waste time if he’d made up his mind about something. And Genji was more than accomplished at knowing himself; he knew the difference between an intense, fleeting desire and something that simply felt right. Not that this meant he knew how to have a conversation about it, so he did indeed agree to let Lúcio do the talking.
They caught Baptiste lounging in a threadbare old tank top and sweatpants, clearly ready to relax after the mission. He seemed surprised and strangely wary to see them at his door, but he still let them in.
Genji felt restless on the couch, and it took all his self control not to shift his weight continuously. It was Lúcio who pushed past the pleasantries, taking the lead as he had promised to do.
“There’s not really a not-awkward transition here from the small talk, but uh. We — both of us — like you.” The silence that followed was… profound. Baptiste said nothing, but his stare said quite a lot. “No expectations,” Lúcio said, and Genji found himself smiling at the old memory of Baptiste’s confession. “Just an offer, I guess. If you want it.”
Baptiste seemed to finally find his words. “An offer.” He glanced at Genji too, as if waiting for him to weigh in. “Of what?”
“Oh, not sex. Or not just sex.” Lúcio flinched, and it was strangely comforting to know he was nearly as clumsy about it as Genji would have been, even with his history and with his much better skill at talking to people. “I… listen, I know you two used to have a thing, and I don’t wanna stop that if it would make you both happy, but I don’t wanna lose what I have or not be in it, and you seem really cool, and so. Maybe we’d have to iron out the details, but we could. Try that. The three of us.”
Baptiste laughed, almost as if he expected them to reveal it was all a joke, but he sobered quickly as it sank in that they were serious. He glanced again at Genji. “Is this what you want?”
Genji sat up straighter, and his voice was steadier than he felt it really should have been. “I want what would make everybody here happy. I think it would make me happy.”
There was another long, uncomfortable silence in which Baptiste simply stared at them both, before Lúcio asked, “So uh. How does that sound?”
Baptiste let out a long breath Genji hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “Perfect. It’s perfect. You have no idea how perfect.” He laughed, relief written into every line of his body. It shone an entirely different light on their conversation before. “Is it too soon to try to kiss you?”
He was looking at Lúcio, not at Genji, and that felt better than Genji had expected — it felt strangely correct. Lúcio’s eyebrows shot up, as if he could be surprised after he’d done all the pushing.
“I’m just saying it’s been a while since I had a proper ‘glad we’re not dead’ celebration, and now that it’s clear we’re all on the same page, I wouldn’t mind breaking that streak.” The dimple by Baptiste’s mouth appeared again, and that seemed more than enough.
The same way it felt right to know Baptiste was interested in Lúcio too, it felt right to see them kiss. It was timid at first before Baptiste pulled a laughing Lúcio into his lap, thick arms nearly dwarfing his trim waist. Baptiste’s hands hesitated at Lúcio’s hips like he was waiting for permission, but Lúcio grabbed for them and moved them to his ass.
Baptiste let out a quiet laugh, but he dug his fingers in, dragging them down along Lúcio’s heavily muscled thighs too. Lúcio inched closer until he fit their hips together, which was when Baptiste finally cut the kiss short.
“Too fast for you?” Lúcio asked.
“No, I just want…” He glanced at Genji, and Lúcio followed his gaze, peering sideways at him with a familiar heavy-lidded look.
Lúcio reached a hand his way. “You’re so far away. Come here.”
Genji moved as if compelled, aware of both their eyes following his every movement. His hand fumbled against one of them and he couldn’t even be sure who, because Lúcio brushed fingers along his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss.
This at least was something he had done a hundred times. It was easy to lean into the familiar shape of Lúcio’s mouth.
It was Lúcio who broke away, who moved out of Baptiste’s lap to make room for Genji, because Baptiste was already drawing him in. Genji hesitated here, sudden nerves coursing through him. He wet his bottom lip and met Baptiste’s eye, then a big hand settled at his waist and Baptiste pressed forward to catch Genji’s mouth with his own.
Genji only realized how tense he had been when he melted against Baptiste at the first brush of their tongues, his weight pushing him hard against the couch and a quiet noise in the back of his throat. As they had before, Baptiste’s hands seemed to hover, waiting for some sign.
Lúcio’s voice was low when he said, “He likes it when you touch his hair.”
Almost immediately, Baptiste tightened his hold, fingers sliding up to tangle in Genji’s hair, blunt nails scraping softly across his scalp. Baptiste’s quiet laugh puffed between their mouths as Genji sagged against him helplessly, then his fingers tightened their grip, held Genji’s head in place so Baptiste could kiss him however he liked.
His lips were tingling by the time Baptiste let him go with one last gentle nip, and it was all Genji could do not to whine at the loss. Baptiste sounded short of breath when he said, “Show me what you do together. Please, I want to watch.”
Lúcio stroked a hand down Genji’s arm. “You wanna show him how we do things, mozão?”
Rather than use his words, Genji slipped from his sprawl across Baptiste’s lap and down to the floor. He caught Lúcio’s waistband and yanked, shorts and underwear coming down together faster than Lúcio could raise his hips to do it himself. Lúcio let out a breathless laugh, squirming to help Genji get them the rest of the way off.
Then Genji budged up between his legs, his hands running from knees to groin. His mouth followed in their wake, a drag of his lips over the impossibly soft skin of Lúcio’s inner thighs. He dipped his tongue into the crease between thigh and pelvis, licking down and down until he reached Lúcio’s balls.
Lúcio cursed and twitched, and so did Baptiste beside him, so close that Genji could sense the way his legs spread as if in sympathy. Genji worked his way back up with wet kisses sucked into his balls and his groin and up along the side of his cock.
Lúcio’s hand landed in his hair, soothing through the strands. “Don’t tease,” he said, so Genji didn’t tease. He glanced up with a smirk, curled his fingers around Lúcio’s cock, then wrapped his lips around the head. Lúcio let out a surprised noise as if he hadn’t asked for exactly this, and Genji tugged at him with a loose fist, lips slipping down just over the head and back up, relishing in the taste of him and the slippery feel of saliva and precome and smooth skin against his lips and tongue.
Lúcio practically writhed for him. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he gasped. In response, Genji pressed his mouth lower, until it bumped against his hand.
Lúcio sank deeper into the couch cushions, panting softly for a moment. Then he wrapped a hand around the back of Genji’s neck. “He said he wants to watch, baby. You should show him how good you are without your hands.”
He glanced up again to find both of them watching with hot, dark eyes, Baptiste’s hand moving inside his sweats. Carefully Genji uncurled his fingers from around Lúcio’s cock, then he slid his mouth ever lower, lips still held loose around him, savoring the taste and the weight on his tongue.
Genji dipped one shoulder, wedged it under Lúcio’s knee, then did the same on the other side, so he could get in closer, press his mouth down and down and down until he felt the head move across his palate and into his throat. Genji dug his fingers into Lúcio’s hips and worked him slow and steady with his mouth, all to a quiet chorus of curses and sweet praise. It was heady, made his brain go quiet and fuzzy, until he was anchored only by the weight of Lúcio’s hand on his neck.
Then both their voices went silent long enough that Genji had to glance up again. Above him, they were kissing messily, tongues spilling between their barely joined lips before Baptiste broke it off to bury his face in Lúcio’s neck and focus his attentions there instead. Their hands worked together over Baptiste’s cock, out in the open now and shining with precome, his hips shifting restlessly.
Lúcio was close; Genji knew the signs, from the jump in his thigh muscle and the speed of his breaths to the way he’d stopped talking, reduced instead to panting only the occasional single word. So it came as a surprise when he fisted his hand in Genji’s hair and pulled. Genji let out a dazed, disappointed groan, licking out to break the strand of spit and slick that still connected his lips to Lúcio’s cock.
“I wanna watch too,” Lúcio said in a voice gone gravelly as he untangled himself from Genji.
Baptiste cursed again as Genji settled between his legs, hands on another pair of thick thighs. Genji didn’t bother trying to draw it out; he wanted to taste Baptiste, and now that he was this close, the urgency of it was nearly unbearable. It was impossible to say which of them groaned as Baptiste’s cock slipped over his tongue and stretched his swollen lips wide.
Lúcio’s hand returned to his hair, fingers petting sweetly before they curled in tightly and guided his mouth. Genji let go, let his brain go silent again and let Lúcio be the one to direct him, let himself get lost in the taste and the feel of silky skin moving past his lips.
“He’s so good, isn’t he?” Lúcio’s voice seemed to float over his head, and Baptiste’s quiet yeah, fuck did the same. “Tell him how good he is.”
“So good, perfect— God, the mouth on you,” Baptiste answered before his voice broke on a groan.
“Can eat you out so good too. He’ll go for hours if you let him.” Baptiste cursed and bucked a little, but neither Genji nor the hand in his hair let up an inch. “Maybe with two of us we can actually wear him out.” Lúcio laughed a little here.
Then he pressed in close, and Genji could feel the tremor of muscles that said Baptiste was jerking him off, could hear the sound of it and of them kissing sloppily above him, then he focused on the pressure against his scalp and the slide of a cock down his throat and he didn’t hear much of anything at all.
Lúcio pushed until Genji’s nose ground into Baptiste’s stomach, held him steady while Baptiste’s hips jerked, and Genji’s throat worked to swallow him down with a greedy, sobbing noise. While he was still holding Baptiste’s cock in his throat, he felt the wet warmth of Lúcio’s come hit his cheek. He carefully pulled his mouth free, then parted his lips again to suck clean the calloused fingers Baptiste pressed against them. His thumb swiped through the mess on Genji’s cheek, and Genji licked that clean too.
He let himself be pulled off his knees, his armor unlatched and body laid bare for them both. They settled him between Baptiste’s spread thighs, back nestled against his broad chest, and Lúcio tossed something up at Baptiste then knelt between their legs. One of Baptiste’s big hands cradled his sticky cheek, made him crane his neck until Baptiste could kiss him, holding him steady while Lúcio’s mouth closed wet and hot around his cock.
The kiss was messy, but it was still so good, and Genji opened wide for it, let himself be led by Baptiste’s lips against his and the hand on his jaw. Between that and the molten mouth on his cock, he didn’t notice the rest until Baptiste’s fingers brushed against his hole. They were already wet, ready to sink in, but they circled the outside instead, rubbing teasingly at him.
“You still like this?” Baptiste asked in the scant space between their lips.
It was all Genji could do to summon the yes, then Baptiste’s mouth was on his again, a finger slipping easily inside him. Lúcio’s mouth screwed down hard, and Baptiste added another finger, thick and dexterous and probing until Genji couldn’t help but move, until his whole body felt like it had narrowed down to mouth and cock and the pleasant burn of being filled and fingertips bumping against his prostate, until he was panting into Baptiste’s mouth and squirming down onto his fingers, until the pressure and heat between his thighs grew too great and he was coming, body flooded with heat and pleasure.
He reclined against Baptiste, loose-limbed and drowsy, while Lúcio sat up to join them on the couch, mouth sweet against his for one more kiss. It was Baptiste, still stuck beneath Genji, who finally broke the blissful silence.
“You know, my bed isn’t huge, but it’s definitely bigger than this couch,” he said, chest rumbling beneath Genji’s shoulders. Even as he spoke, his hands idly mapped Genji’s body, soothing and grounding him at once.
“You might have to carry him. He gets lazy,” Lúcio teased.
“Yeah, I remember that part,” Baptiste answered fondly, petting a hand over Genji’s ribs before it settled at his hip.
They did not, in fact, have to carry him, but there was admittedly a lot of leaning involved. The bed was a tight fit for three, but it only meant Genji wound up in the middle. He fell asleep between the two of them, in a bed that smelled like Baptiste.
When he woke again, it was to the sound of Baptiste and Lúcio laughing and discussing much more specific boundaries in between easy jokes and stories about their pasts. Genji only eavesdropped from the bed, marveling at how good the two seemed together and how right it felt already — how easily they all fit.