Braided Page 11

  "Yes," murmured Bowie, hand slipping into him just like that. "Love."

  Paul kissed his forehead, his temple. "Yeah, Petey. Love. We've got you."

  He nodded, just trying to remember how to breathe.

  Bowie's hand stopped moving, just stayed inside him, letting him get used to the fact that one of Bowie's hands, one of Bowie's huge hands, was inside him.

  Kisses slid along his spine and Bowie's free hand kept stroking him, fingers pushing into his muscles. He relaxed, tears sliding from his eyes as adrenaline and anticipation and emotion were pushed out by Bowie's touch.

  "Oh. Oh, Bowie. He's crying." Paul brushed his cheeks, lips sliding. "He's got tears."

  "He's not hurting," Bowie said softly. "He's healing."

  "Healing?" Paul held him and stroked him and kissed him and he took it all in, then let it go in another breath. He was too full to hold things in.

  "Letting out the bad." Bowie's words were soft, gentle like the touches to his spine. Then the hand inside him started to move.

  Peter moaned, pleasure and fear and raw need in the sound, his next cry more want and surprise and happiness.

  "That's it, Peter, don't think, just feel." Bowie's voice was little more than a sub-vocal growl, vibrating along his spine.

  He could hear Paul's voice, but he couldn't understand, just heard need and pride and awe and heat. Heat. Paul's heat. His heat. Bowie's heat. He was burning alive, cock suddenly throbbing, every motion of Bowie's hand sending electricity through him.

  Bowie kept moving his hand, so slowly at first and then gradually faster and faster. Paul bucked up beneath him, one hand stroking their cocks. Someone was keening, a desperate, low, constant sound pushed from a raw throat. Bowie was purring, the sound vibrating all through his back, meeting up with the sensations that were sparking inside him where Bowie's fingers stroked deep.

  Oh, he needed. He did. So much. He lifted his head, eyes blinking up at Paul, desperate.

  His twin smiled, leaned to lick his lips. "You're okay, Petey. You can come, if you need to, yeah? You're okay."

  "Yes," whispered Bowie against his skin. "Come for us, Peter. Let me feel you hold my hand tight inside you."

  He sobbed and finally, blessedly came, someone screaming with pleasure, calling out, the sounds still echoing in his ears as he slumped against Paul.

  More kisses warmed his spine and then suddenly, almost without warning, he was empty, Bowie's hand gone. Peter gasped, so empty, shivering, buried in Paul's arms.

  Then Bowie's cock pressed against him, pushed into him, Bowie fucking him slow and deep. He relaxed, the familiar pressure soothing him, warming him. Paul's fingers slid down, carefully touching where he and Bowie were joined. Bowie moaned, filling him again and again.

  "You're both so hot." Paul's voice was soft, happy. "He looks relaxed, melted."

  "He feels amazing," growled Bowie. "I'm gonna come."

  He tried to squeeze, to help, but it was Paul who reached up, stroked Bowie. "Fill him up, then."

  Bowie cried out, sinking deep and filling him with heat.

  Paul's hand moved slowly between them, slowly bringing himself pleasure. "Can I come, too, Bowie?"

  "Yes, Paul. Share your pleasure with us."

  "Mmm... Thank you." Paul nuzzled his neck and was arching in no time, heat sliding over his belly.

  Bowie pushed and pulled and resettled them so that they were both lying on top of their lover, curled all together.

  "Br...brought food for you both." He let his eyes fall shut, too spent to move.

  "I am hungry for my pretty Pets, but thank you, Peter. I will eat later."

  He nodded. Sort of. At least he patted Bowie's stomach in agreement. Something like that.

  Something he figured they both heard.

  ***

  Bowie was a little stiff.

  Well, his back was a little stiff, his prick was a lot stiff.

  And both could be laid directly at his twins' feet.

  Stiff backs were what happened when one slept on the couch. Stiff pricks were what happened when one slept curled up around two sexy Pretties.

  They hadn't moved from the couch after he'd fisted Peter, hadn't eaten, had only held each other and slept. He chuckled. He was going to lose weight if nothing else. His arms were full of warm, lovely men though, so there was much more than food. Much more.

  His pretty Pets had seen how good it could be when they all were in sync; he hoped they would hold onto that during the times it didn't go so smoothly.

  Paul's eyes fluttered open, his most wicked Pet still sleep-soft and gentle. "Hey..."

  He made a soft noise in reply, nuzzling Paul's neck and then licking at the sweet lips. Paul kissed him easily, eagerly, dark eyes picking up the hint of blue on those high cheekbones, the pink of Peter's hair.

  So warm. So eager. Such a pleasure. One hand slid into his hair, petting, loving on him. Paul’s eyes shone at him. He nuzzled into the touches, deepening the kiss. His hand slid up over skin, Peter's. He could tell them apart now, just by touch.

  Peter hummed, shifting a little. He felt Paul smile into their kiss, eyes beginning to twinkle. He kept kissing -- the best way to keep Paul from mischief? Keep that pretty mouth busy. Paul moaned, look going soft, hot, hungry.

  Oh, the temptation with these two would be to forgo playing in order to just make sweet, wonderful love. He moved slowly, rubbing against them.

  Peter stretched, sliding between them, groaning low.

  "So sexy," he murmured, licking at Paul's lips and then turning Peter's face, licking at his as well. Peter was softer, sweeter, the kiss slow and dazed. Paul pushed into their kiss, added fire, flame. He purred, tasting them, pushing a little harder against them.

  Paul's fingers twined with Peter's, stretching the shorter twin between them, making Peter gasp. "Can you still feel Bowie stretching you?"

  Bowie moaned, hips jerking against Peter, waiting for the answer.

  Peter whimpered, gasped. "Y...y...yes. Yes. Str...tr...tretching.me inside."

  "You liked that, didn't you?" he murmured.

  Peter blushed dark, turning to hide his face in one stretched arm.

  He tsked and took Peter's chin, turning the pink face and kissing Peter softly. "Don't hide from us, Pretty."

  Peter's skin was hot, eyes darting, nodding. "I... I... I..."

  "Take your time, Pretty." He licked at Peter's lips.

  Peter shivered, leaning to deepen the kiss.

  He kissed Peter long and gentle, but deep. Then he pulled away, nuzzling their noses together. "You going to answer my question, Peter?"

  Peter nodded, then nodded again. Paul opened his mouth, but a sharp look actually got it snapped shut. He stroked Peter's back, nuzzled gently, just waiting, holding them all in check.

  "Y...y...y...yes." Peter's eyes closed, his pretty Pet taking a deep breath. "I d...d...d...did."

  He smiled. "So did I."

  Peter moaned softly, rubbing against him, hands pulling against Paul's grip.

  Bowie began rubbing once more. "Are we going to play, my beautiful boys?"

  Paul leaned in to bite Peter's upper arm and nodded. "Here, Bowie?"

  "The couch is a bit cramped. I think maybe it's about time you showed me your playroom, don't you?" They'd been busy learning and loving each other and he had yet to see the actual room set aside for sexual play.

  After much nodding and shifting and chuckling, his Pets led him to the circus that was their playroom. The flat surfaces were covered in multicolored silks, except where there were furs piled. The walls had thousands of pieces of multicolored broken mirrors glued everywhere. The cabinets are filled with toys and novelties -- most of them pretty and pointless. One big cabinet was locked and sealed with tape, the word 'NO' scrawled across it in sparkling paint.

  The effect was... Dizzying.

  He shook his head. This would not do. Not at all. He went to the sealed cupboard and pulled off the tape, opening it. Perhap
s there was something that could be salvaged.

  Peter peeped and Paul hurried over. "Those are things Peter didn't want to play with. They came with the room. They made him nervous. We locked them away."

  "Well if they make him nervous we should examine them, discuss what they are used for and decide whether we want to play with them or not. Locking away your fears will not allow you to conquer them." Paul was going to have to stop wrapping his brother in layers of silk.

  Paul gave him a disbelieving look. "Okay, but if he doesn't want to play, he screams. It's loud." Then he got a grin and a kiss before Paul turned and pounced Peter, knocking them both into a huge pile of cushions, mad giggling filling the room.

  Bowie rolled his eyes. "Stop."

  The soft giggles continued, although they stilled, sort of.

  The cabinet he opened held some lovely, unmarred, untouched equipment -- bonds and blindfolds, whips and floggers and paddles, large smooth plugs and sounds. A lovely collection.

  "One of you go get a basket or a box and then I want you both to help me bring this stuff out to the sitting room."

  They would play show and tell today. Peter could ask his questions, voice his concerns, while Paul acted as model for the toys.

  Peter padded off, Paul biting the pink ass on the way. "We're not going to play, Bowie? You don't like our playroom? Petey and I worked hard on it."

  He raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you play in here, Paul?" How did they do anything but have epileptic seizures?

  Paul blinked at him, face hurt for a heartbeat before it disappeared. "We play. You know? Fuck. Feel. Laugh. Boring shit. I'm going to go help Peter find a box."

  Then Paul was gone, disappearing like a shot. "Petey? Which room you in? You find a fucking box yet?"

  "Y...y...yeah. L...l...lots. H...help?" Peter's voice was muffled, a low thud sounding, then a giggle.

  Bowie sighed and shook his head. He would leave this room as it was, turning one of the other rooms into a proper BDSM playroom. This way he could have the kind of space he and they needed and they could still have a mad place to just plain play in.

  "Don't get distracted," he called out.

  One of the lizards roamed into the room, stretching idly and blinking at him. It took him a second to notice its tail was painted glittery orange. It made him chuckle, though he shooed it back out, not wanting it to become locked in when the door was closed.

  Peter eventually came back with a box, a daub of purple paint on his nose and a hickey on his throat. "B...b...b...box." He got a kiss and the box was handed over.

  "Thank you, Peter. Will you help me?"

  "I...in the b...b...b...box?" Peter nodded.

  "Yes. We're going to bring them into the sitting room and discuss them. Where's Paul? He knew I wanted his help as well."

  "B...b...b...b...b..." Peter frowned and stamped his foot. "Bathroom. P...p...paint fell."

  "Okay." He stroked Peter's cheek and gave his sweet pretty a kiss. "No need to get impatient. You'll eventually get it out, hmmm?"

  Peter rolled his eyes and nodded, then started to pull things out and put them in the box. Eventually Paul wandered in, face and hair glittering and made up and bumped hips with Peter.

  "Paul. I know you weren't happy with what you considered my condemnation of your playroom, but you knew I wanted your and Peter's help with moving this stuff to the sitting room and I'm not happy that you chose to ignore that in favor of putting on your armor."

  Peter gave him a surprised look and Paul's look was an odd mixture of frustration and disbelief. "One, the paint fell and I had to wash it off and needed to retouch so it's not armor, it's pretty. Two, you haven't moved anything into the sitting room yet and I'm here. Three, you're allowed to be not happy."

  "Indeed, I'm glad I'm allowed to be not happy, because I'm growing more not happy as the moments pass. We agreed that when I told you to do something, you did it. You were there, Paul. You agreed to that. You cannot pick and choose what commands you listen to and which you don't." In fact he was getting angry, annoyed that a pleasant morning of going through the various toys and perhaps playing with them was being derailed by Paul's childishness.

  Paul looked at him. "Yellow light."

  Peter was frowning, eyes flicking between them.

  What? He nearly said it out loud but managed not to. Instead he took a deep breath, took the box from Peter and put it on the floor. "Very well, Paul. Yellow light. What's the problem?"

  "I need to talk to you." Paul's chin went up, eyes hurt. "I didn't not do anything you asked. I didn't pout or throw a fit. I didn't run away. You're accusing me of not listening to you and I did. The paint fell and I washed it off and fixed back up. I didn't dawdle. I didn't wait for you to be done. I do enough to be bitched at for, don't make things up because this room isn't what you expected and you're disappointed."

  Peter made a soft little sound, hand reaching out to stroke Paul's arm, then his own.

  Bowie held onto his temper with very great effort. "I do not 'make things up'. I may have misread your actions, but I do not deliberately look for reasons to punish you and frankly, I'm hurt that you would think that I do." He took a deep breath, Peter the only thing keeping him from retreating to his own quiet, calm rooms.

  "You are not listening to me. You don't have to look for reasons. I'm a fuck up, I know that, but you said that I didn't do what you said and I did. So, be mad that I didn't do what you expected or what you wanted."

  "Can we please get out of this room so that I can think? I need a glass of water and a moment of quiet to contemplate what you've said." The riotous color was enough to make anyone crazy.

  "Sure." Paul patted Peter's hand and nodded. "I'm going to go to the bedroom and find a robe. I'm still cold from washing." Dark eyes met his. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you, but I needed to tell you." Paul left, doing an admirable job of not flouncing or pouting.

  Bowie closed his eyes and counted to five and then opened them again and gave Peter a kiss. "Could you bring this box out for me, please, Peter? I just need two minutes to center myself. Note the time on the clock and fetch Paul into the sitting room in a few minutes, please."

  He went to the kitchen, feeling better as soon as the room itself was behind him, had his glass of water and went to sit on the floor in the sitting room.

  Closing his eyes, he let himself grow calm. Had he been upset with Paul because he was disappointed? Perhaps a little, though he liked to pride himself in not taking his own feelings out on his subs. Perhaps it was just that he expected sass from Paul and when he got anything that could be interpreted that way, that's how he saw it.

  At any rate, Paul needed an apology for being made to feel as if he must apologize for yellow lighting.

  Then they would get their morning back on track.

  When he opened his eyes, the box was on the floor and he could hear the quiet murmurs of his Pets, subdued and low, comforting each other, before Peter drew Paul out. They settled on the couch, Peter curled on Paul's lap, Paul wrapped in a shiny blue robe.

  He gave them a smile. "I'm sorry, Paul, if you felt that I was upset that you called a yellow light. It did surprise me, but it didn't anger me."

  Paul nodded. "I just needed to tell you."

  He nodded as well. "Yes, you did." He could see Paul relax, could see it in the way Peter's tension eased, feel it in the air. He took a deep breath. "I will also try to take a breath before reacting, Paul. So that we are all sure that I am not being overly harsh."

  "Thank you." Paul met his eyes, arms holding his twin. "Petey and me talked and we'll take everything out of the room and you can have someone in to make it so it doesn't hurt your head."

  "If that is what you want, though I am happy to leave it as it is, and we will use one of the other rooms as a place where I can play with you. Real BDSM games. Then the two of you may use the colored room as you wish."

  Peter pulled Paul close, whispering softly. Paul nodded and looked at him.
"Peter says maybe we can design something together -- we've got three whole sets of rooms between us. There's lots of rooms, but right now, just yours and ours. Nothing that's all of ours yet."

  Bowie beamed. "Your twin is a very smart man, Paul."

  Paul nodded. "He is. Are you mad at me?"

  "No, Paul, I am not."

  "'Kay." He got a tremulous smile, then Paul buried his face in Peter's hair.

  "Oh, come here, Paul." He held out his arms. Paul obviously needed the reassurance that he usually associated with Peter. He was more than happy to give it.