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When the growls and shrieks finally subside into prolonged silence, Alex makes his way upstairs.
It’s… difficult, to say the least. His hands are nearly trembling with the effort to hold himself back. His whole body is flushed; he tugs at the collar of his shirt for some much-needed air.
His cock is so hard it’s painful. Every brush of fabric against his overheated skin makes him want to scream in frustration.
Even so, when he turns from the hallway into the bedroom, he can’t help but calm a little. As he approaches Gil and George, already nude and lounging in bed, he steps over Gil’s torn skirt and red hooded cape, nudges aside the mask of George’s wolf suit. The air reeks of sex and sweat and satisfaction.
There’s no place Alex would rather be.
One of George’s eyes open, squinting at him before he mumbles a greeting. “‘lo, Alex.”
Though Alex’s heart is pounding, every nerve stretched wire-taut and razor sharp, his grin is absolutely pleased. “Looks like you had a good time.”
“Mmm,” Gil agrees. He rolls over, gaze soft and half-lidded, and lazily extends his arms in clear invitation.
Alex doesn’t need to be told twice, immediately clambering onto the mattress and burrowing into his brother’s arms. Gil starts to settle in, but before Alex can get comfortable, before he can even say a word, Gil uses practiced strength to flip them over, firmly ensconcing Alex in the center.
George leans in, breath ghosting hot and intimate across the shell of Alex’s ear. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“I didn’t want to assume.”
Gil smiles at him, bright, as George’s broad hands make quick work of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor, then hook in the waistband of his shorts and strip them off. Alex hisses a little at the abrupt chill, but Gil’s attentive, appreciative appraisal warms him right back up again.
Gil scoots closer, wedging his thigh between Alex’s legs, burying his head in the crook of Alex’s shoulder. Alex whimpers at the feel of Gil nestled against his cock, the heat and pressure and promise; Gil’s lips and teeth, meeting skin and marking him with fresh bruises.
“Fuck,” he gasps, fingers digging into Gil’s back. His head is dizzy, spinning. “Fuck, that feels so good…”
“You’re good,” Gil whispers against his throat. Alex swallows reflexively when Gil presses a lingering kiss to his pulse. “You were so good for us today, big brother, being so patient while Daddy and I played.”
Suddenly the space around him shrinks; George crowds in close, strong and solid against his back, hand sliding around his waist to wrap firmly around his cock. Alex’s breath stutters.
“I heard you,” he moans, barely resisting the urge to rut into his father’s hand. “I heard you and I wanted to get off so badly—”
“I know.” Gil smiles again, the barest scrape of stubble against Alex’s cheek. “But you saved all this for us.”
“We’re proud of you, baby boy,” George rumbles, grip tightening around him so much it nearly hurts. Alex shudders at the praise, the pain— it’s deliriously perfect and he’s been wound up for so long, how is he supposed to last…
Gil looks him in the eyes. Determined and so loving it steals Alex’s remaining breaths, makes his very soul cry out in kind. “Our turn to take care of you.”
His fingers tangle in Alex’s hair, curling into a fist, pulling Alex’s head back as he leans in and presses their lips together in a messy kiss. Alex tries to gasp, but then Gil opens him up with his tongue, fucking his mouth in time with George’s expert strokes.
“Take what you need,” George orders. “Come for us.”
Daddy, baby brother, he thinks wildly, and then his world shatters apart.
* * *
Gil yawns.
He yawns again.
Alex turns down the volume on the television and turns to him, raising his eyebrows. “It’s not even four thirty.”
“Blaze it,” Gil says reflexively, flapping his hand idly at the clock perched on the mantle that does, indeed, read 4:20 PM.
Alex’s laugh echoes through the house. George, stirring pasta at the stove, doesn’t move, but even from several feet away Gil can see the barest hint of a smile starting to creep across his face. “I don’t think I caught that, young man.”
Gil snuggles deeper under the fleece blanket, imagining that it’s George and Alex’s arms around him. “Like you didn’t have fun when you were our age.”
“When I was your age I had the better sense not to mention it in front of my father.”
Alex scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of petulance. “You know you love it when we misbehave.”
George finally looks up from the stove and over his glasses, across the open space between the kitchen and the den, gaze and voice heated. “Perhaps.”
Gil shivers a little, a delicious frisson up his spine. The smile fully breaks on George’s face, and Gil feels himself responding, leaning in to soak it up like a sunflower stretching to the sky. “Come cuddle, Daddy.”
“I promise I will once dinner’s ready. Why don’t you and Alex wait for me upstairs?”
Gil frowns. “The movie—”
“Can wait,” Alex reminds him, clicking off the television and setting the remote on the arm of the couch. “Time for a nap.”
“I don’t wanna…”
“You know your neck is gonna hurt if you sleep out here,” Alex cajoles, before he delivers the proverbial killing blow: “Do it for me, baby?”
Gil groans. Alex grins at him knowingly; he’s always, always had Gil’s heart in his hands and has never hesitated to exploit it when he thinks it necessary. George chuckles a little from the kitchen.
“Fiiiiine.” Gil holds out his hands for Alex to clasp them, pull him to standing. Alex keeps ahold of him as he leads them out of the den and up the stairs.
While Alex navigates them into the bedroom, then tips him into bed and maneuvers him under the covers, Gil sighs. “Sorry. I’ve just been so tired, but I want to spend time with you and Daddy…”
“You’ve been working hard,” Alex soothes. He climbs on behind him and tucks Gil close: chest to back, thigh to thigh, arm to arm, enveloping him fully.
Gil hums contentedly and settles in, eyes already drooping closed.
He doesn’t completely lose consciousness, but stays drifting in the liminal edge of sleep— so he notices immediately when the bed dips with added weight. There’s an abrupt chill on the front of his body when the blanket is tugged away, but then there’s familiar warmth surrounding him from there, too.
“‘s time to eat already?” Gil stirs a little, mumbling; he doesn’t want them to let go, but—
“It’ll keep,” George says softly, tucking a curl behind his ear. “We’d much rather eat you up, instead.”
“Dorks,” Gil retorts, smiling against George’s broad chest; he feels so full he can’t possibly contain it.
Alex, of course, intuitively hears what he’s about to say. “Love you too,” Alex murmurs, lips brushing against his jaw. “Always.”
* * *
George hears the voices before he’s awake enough to fully process, aggrieved whispers in the moonlit shadows of the bedroom. They warble in the corners of his consciousness, mingling with the fading fragments of his dreams; he nearly jolts in alarm before he recognizes them.
“You’re an idiot, Alex. I know you have an exam in the morning.”
Gil. Home from work, finally, which means that it’s obscenely late— or early, which George pointedly refuses to think about from his warm nest of pillows and blankets.
“I wanted to wait for you.”
Alex. Who sent him upstairs hours ago with a chaste good night kiss and a promise to follow soon. Who very obviously did not follow soon, or at all.
George can’t help but smile fondly in the darkness. He can’t begrudge Alex for wanting to see his brother after a long day apart, even when it left the bed empty.
Gil sighs. “We talked about this.”
“We did,” Alex agrees immediately; there’s a lilt of teasing in his tone. “I’m not up late because I want to be. I chose to be up late because someone decided to waltz in just now—”
“You asshole, you know this is my usual shift—”
“—and maybe Daddy should punish you for that.”
Alex sounds proud of himself as Gil sputters; there’s the rustle of clothing, a soft ow and the sound of skin on skin that George recognizes from years gone by as the boys pinching and elbowing each other...
Yes, it’s certainly time to intervene.
“Hey,” George grouses, low and sleep-roughened. “I’m the only one who gets to be called Daddy around here.”
When George opens his eyes he can just barely make out the shape of their faces. Gil laughs, surprised; Alex grins a little sheepishly. “Sorry to wake you.”
George smiles. “You two have always woken me up. Your mother was the one who slept through every tag-team attempt you made to crawl into bed with us, not me.”
He sees them freeze, but he keeps his voice light. He’s been practicing, telling stories aloud to nothing but the four walls, reciting memories he tried unsuccessfully to bury long ago…
He’s been practicing, for all of their sakes, so it’s not so hard to say as he fears it might be.
After a moment, Gil’s shoulders visibly relax. “Get in,” he mutters, nudging Alex.
“No, you get in.”
“I swear to god, Alexander—”
George lunges, grabbing both of the boys and dragging them onto the bed. He’s delighted by Alex’s outraged squawk, Gil’s startled squeak. “Nope, my turn,” he announces. “Plenty of room for you on either side.”
“Excuse you, old man,” Alex protests, but he’s laughing too as he settles in.
Gil and Alex are warm against his sides, curling in close as he wraps an arm around both of them. They press soft kisses to his cheeks before laying their heads on his shoulders; he feels their free hands clasp on top of his abdomen, fingers interlacing.
His stomach lurches. He stills briefly, assessing himself for despair or regret or grief—
But all he feels is love, so fathomless and profound it’s almost painful.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers, and squeezes his boys tight.