Work Text:
This morning you have a breakfast sandwich. But first—
–
You're laying over Trent's lap reading a book. He has his arms resting on your back with a book of his own. You're both pretty good at this companionable silence thing — you listen to the gentle scratching of pen on paper as Trent annotates something. It feels almost funny spending idle time in Ted's bed while he's not even in the room, a novelty.
You lazily scritch the side of Trent's leg and briefly entertain the idea of sliding a hand under his soft shirt when Ted returns from his shower.
"Look at you two lovebirds all—," he does a loose gesture "—canoodling." He's looking refreshed in his clean undershirt and sweatpants.
Trent removes his glasses and sets his book down, "I don't see any canoodling here."
"But we could change that," you add, rolling over onto your back and gesturing to Ted with open arms.
"I'll take that invite!" He crawls a bit across the bed to give you a sweet quick kiss and a sweet slow kiss after that. You sit up a bit, your back becoming more flush with Trent's chest, and Ted takes the opportunity to give Trent the same treatment. (Two kisses: one quick, one slow, both sweet.) You relish the soft, pleased sound Ted makes.
You feel Trent tuck his face into the crook of your neck, placing languid kisses there, and you let your eyes close for a moment. His arms cross around you gently, his hands smoothing across your waist before resting on opposite hips. You feel warm, tucked back against him. He noses behind your ear and starts kissing there as well and you let out the small kind of sigh that is almost like a click in the back of your throat.
When you open your eyes again you see that Ted is lying next to both of you with his head propped up in his hand (and his other hand on his hip, as if he were doing a silly pose for a photo). "Now if THAT isn't canoodling I don't know what is."
You narrow your eyes at him, "You're scheming." This gets a small chuckle out of Trent who is still busy kissing at your scalp. To others it might have seemed like a hiccup, but it was definitely a laugh. You turn to him, "He's scheming. Are you both scheming?"
Trent presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and you invite him in, his lips gently parting while you dart your tongue out against his teeth. He murmurs, his voice gravelly, "Hmmm, are we scheming?"
Somehow, you can feel the weight of Ted's grin on you. Then you feel the weight of his hand sliding up your thigh. He says into your ear, "Going with the flow, Vincent Van Gogh..."
"Ok, ok, very cool."
"Yeah?" Ted prompts.
"Yeah," You smile.
The three of you simply kiss for a while, making tableaus with the various ways your necks can crane. Breath and warmth and the taste of skin.
Patient and persistent, Ted's thumb has been running soft circles on your thigh. You bite your tongue as the pad of it passes over the juncture of your leg and your body, "Oh, babe..." you sigh, and Ted gives you a playful kiss, pulling on your top lip. You take the opportunity to nip at his bottom lip. He squeezes your thigh.
Trent's warm breath is still tickling your ear, "Someone's getting worked up." He runs the backs of his nails lightly across your bare stomach — your shirt has rucked up a bit. It's funny how, in the heat of things, clothes seem to wrinkle and contract against you like a shedding snakeskin. Which is apt, because you feel you could spend all day sunning yourself under the rays of attention from these sweet men. You shift your back and your hips to scratch the itch.
“I wonder why,” you belatedly reply to Trent as Ted leans down and gives a smooch to Trent's wrist before working his way down across your stomach. Then your breath hitches because he mouths you through your shorts. You jerk both of your hands up and end up accidentally smacking Trent in the face a bit. "Oh my gosh, sorry sweetheart."
He looks back at you with good humor, grasping your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "I didn't think that was on purpose."
"Of course no—, " you finish the statement with a clipped sort of "ahht!" noise as Ted slides one of his thumbs under your clothes to gently swipe at your folds. You become aware of all the warm pinpoints on you: Trent gripping your hand, his other hand squeezing your waist, and his arousal against your ass. Ted with one hand looped under your knee, his mouth hot against your thigh, and of course his thumb massaging you with gentle but deliberate strokes, spreading your wetness across yourself. The points like the supernova-hot light of stars peeking their way through the night sky, or like driving past rolling hills and noticing they are peppered with sexy, sexy houses.
You twitch and press your hips forward, but Ted just smiles up — not at you this time, clearly at Trent (scheming!) and he doesn't let on any faster, continuing to be feather light, to ghost his fingers against any skin he has access to. Trent dips his freehand under your waistband. But, instead of what you expect, he veers his strong fingers into that soft juncture of your thigh and hip and presses down, massaging there instead. Your head falls back against Trent's shoulder.
"You two are going to kill me," you let out in all one compressed breath. After teasing you enough, Trent draws his hand up and places an entreatying palm on Ted's cheek. You watch him work his fingers into Ted's eager mouth. You feel a distinct pang of arousal when Ted starts making soft noises as Trent presses against his tongue and his teeth.
You're struck when Ted opens his eyes and looks directly at you. His pupils are blown but his gaze is still focused, with a sparkle of mischief. You wish you could lean down and kiss his wetted lips, but in one move Trent slides one hand up your shirt (pressing you against his warm chest yet again) and the other down your shorts again, only this time he presses two fingers —slick from Ted's mouth— onto your clit.
"Fuck!" Your back curves as Trent lightly thumbs at one of your nipples. His fingers start making the smallest pressing motions against your clit. Ted hums in appreciation and for a moment just runs his two broad hands up and down your thighs, as if to warm them.
"Take these off," Trent says, voice low in your ear. This request really was directed at Ted, and you shift so he can shuck your shorts and underwear off easily. Trent is nosing under your jaw again. You hear him inhale one slow breath, and let it out warm against your neck as he kisses you. You can't see it, but you know he's looking at Ted, "Get your mouth on them."
Ted cracks a delighted smile and, for some reason, rubs his hands together like someone about to tuck in to a nice hearty meal (well,). You would laugh, imagining a checkered napkin tied around his neck, and a cartoonishly large fork and knife, but instead you just manage, "yes, yes, yes, this, now."
And, his mouth is on you. He runs the flat of his tongue over you a few times and you don't dare look away. He sets to running his tongue through your folds and Trent returns to massaging your clit, sometimes stopping to dip his fingers back into Ted's mouth. It's quite the fucking sight.
"You're being so good to me. You're being so good," you drop your voice a bit, knowing the pleading way Ted will look up at you. He does. He is so, so good. You moan as he presses his tongue into you, and he moans in return. It works well this way, the giving and getting creating a sort of echo chamber of pleasure. You let yourself savor the feeling of his tongue eagerly probing you for a few beats, his vigor increasing. Meanwhile, Trent has taken the opportunity to simply indulge in smoothing his hands over your stomach and torso, keeping the whole of your body alive and sensitive. You turn to him and he accepts a wet kiss, and you say, "He's being so good for us."
Trent's smile in response is striking, because instead of deviousness or coolness, it's warm. "He is, isn't he?" Trent murmurs, which prompts a whine from Ted. He reaches down to pet Ted's hair (those pleading eyes) and press him further into you, and you gyrate your hips against the sensation. This also gets a small choked groan from Trent, who's clothed hardness is still pressing into you. You luxuriate into that feeling as you rotate your hips.
Ted comes up for air for a moment, his mustache looking absolutely obscene. He gives your thigh a sticky kiss and presses a finger into you, steady and careful. He matches the rhythm of Trent's hips grinding against you and then adds a second finger — then he returns to his delving. Ted swirls his warm tongue around your clit. You can tell your reactions to all of this are definitely affecting Trent, since he's still pressed flush and clutching to you. The thought of getting him off just like this sets you off a bit, and you know you're getting close, especially with Ted's mouth and fingers "doing their darndest". (And boy, the darndest is good.)
The room feels. Hotter.
Trent’s breath, again. His knowing lips on your shoulder.
Ted’s rhythm resolute, ah he,
Crooks and,
Twists,
And,
and
By the time you finish your chest is heaving, Trent now with his hands grasped under your thighs as you shudder around Ted's fingers. You hadn't realized how much you were holding onto Trent's hair for dear life until you let out a long breath and drop your arms. You reach back to grasp his cock but can't find a good angle, and you sort of grunt ineffectively to try to communicate that. They get it. Ted gently removes his fingers from you and slides up into your space, reaching between you and Trent — who then gives a low groan in your ear. Ted cups your ass in his other hand and leans in to kiss your taste into Trent's mouth as he strokes him determinedly. Inspired even through the post-orgasm haze you free Ted's neglected erection and give the base a squeeze, then moving up to spread the generous (nice) amount of pre-cum around the head with your thumb — and hell, Ted whimpers.
Soon enough your back and stomach are streaked with cum and it’s Ted and Trent’s turn to catch their breaths.
Ted, by virtue of being the top part of this sandwich, begins the cleanup effort.
“Aw, babe, your shower,” you say ruefully as he runs a rag down your spine (ooh!).
“Oh, I didn’t get that dirty,” he mollifies you.
You shoot a look at Trent who regards you mildly until he wiggles his eyebrows twice. You choke down a laugh.
“What?” Ted glances between you suspiciously, “Are you two sending each other ‘Ted’s a dirty boy’ looks?”
Trent looks at Ted like he just grew a second head and this time you don’t choke down the laugh.
–
You do spot clean Ted's mustache, taking joy in combing it with the little comb he uses. It has become a new ritual of yours. You hold his chin steady and listen to the wiry brushing sounds, relaxing. He smiles. And he always thanks you.
Trent, in a fresh set of clothes, watches you while he lounges, satisfied as a cat. He slides his glasses back on, "Now that that's settled, shall we 'canoodle' ourselves some breakfast?"