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It’s been one of those days at work, the type of day after which Ned can’t decide if he wants to sleep for twelve hours or have the sense consensually beat out of him. When he gets home, and sees Tom, still in his shoes, leaning on the wall and typing rapidly on his work phone, he knows it’s definitely not going to be the latter.
Tom gives him a distracted “Hi, love,” without looking up, but turns to him for a quick kiss when Ned puts a hand on his back. He hits send on his message, and lets Ned take his coat and hang it up.
“Everything alright?” Ned asks, feeling his eyebrows draw together.
Tom looks at him properly, and his face softens. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll just- let me send one more message and then we can start dinner. Sol should be home in an hour or so.”
“How about we order a pizza instead?” Ned suggests. “I think we could both use a relaxing evening,” he adds significantly, voice almost pleading.
Tom looks him up and down again, and seems to add two and two together. “Okay, we can do that.”
There was a time when it would have taken much more persuasion for Tom to order takeout on a whim, when it wasn’t strictly necessary, but as their relationship has progressed, and he’s learned to take care of Ned, Ned has been trying to take care of him too, show him that he’s also important. And if that means putting their needs in the same boat sometimes, Ned is more than happy to do that.
Ordering pizza is a part of their routine for evenings after a long day for one or two or all three of them, particularly when Ned is still frantic-minded after a stressful day at work and could use his mind cleared and there’s no chance of intense sex or play. Tom checks in with him over their pizza, as he always does, and they decide it will go as usual, at least until Sol gets home from the gym.
They start with Tom on the sofa, Ned’s head on his knee. He instructs Ned to do his box breathing, marking seconds for him with strokes through his hair. After a few minutes, Ned feels himself start to melt into Tom’s legs, anxiety leaving his body from the comforting position, the physical contact, and the focus on following simple orders, as well as the breathing technique.
Then, Tom flexes his legs under Ned’s chin, and says, “Ned, I’d like to put my feet up. Hands and knees for me.” Ned doesn’t need to look up to see where Tom is gesturing to; he knows the spot on the rug that should be between his knees for him to be just the right distance from the sofa. He crawls the scant distance there and settles himself as perfectly as he can: back level, legs and arms square, neck even with his spine, eyes down. He takes a deep breath, and releases it as the weight of Tom’s feet settle onto his back.
“Perfect, thank you,” murmurs Tom, and Ned hears him sigh in contentment and settle deeper into the sofa, feels his feet shift forward on his back, more weight pressing down against his back. “Now hold still.”
Then, Tom ignores him (probably doing something on his laptop), which is fine by Ned. The weight of his feet and legs is soothing, and helps Ned focus on his body, and on each little clue of Tom he can feel and hear. Though can’t see Tom, can only see the familiar pattern of the rug between his hands, it makes him more aware of everything else.
Ned focuses on letting Tom relax: keeping himself perfectly and his breathing even, as though he’s trying to blend into the background. The breathing, the singular focus, and the limited sensory input help Ned enter a strange sort of meditation -- a meditation he finds much easier to achieve than anything he does on his own. His mind empties, reducing his world to sensations (the plushness under his hands and knees, the heat of Tom’s calves, the slight strain in his core), sounds (Tom’s breathing, the soft rustling when he shifts his weight on the sofa, the occasional tap on the keyboard, the muffled sounds of the neighbors in the hall), and knowledge of what his body is doing right now (spine still level, breathing still steady, eyes still down).
He’s not sure how much time passes like that before Sol gets home. He’s quiet as he enters, and when he comes into the living room, Ned hears and feels Tom shift to face him.
“One of those days, huh?” Sol murmurs, and though his entry has disturbed the pattern of his meditative state, his voice is low and soft and his presence is comforting enough that it doesn’t matter. The sofa creaks and for the next few minutes, new sounds drift into Ned’s ears: fabric rustling, the quiet brushing of skin on skin, and little sighs from Tom and eventually, Sol.
When Tom finally lifts his feet from Ned's back, Ned is so accustomed to their weight that he feels like he might float right up to the ceiling without them. Instead, he hears the firm pat of hand on thigh, and Sol says, “Over here, Ned.”
Ned comes slowly, arching his back and rolling his neck and stretching his arms and legs as he crawls to Sol and sits down at his feet. Roused from stillness and without a singular focus, Ned’s meditative state is fading, but he’s calm,and thoughts are still slow to enter his mind. For now, he’s quite preoccupied with the bulge in Sol’s trousers.
Sol doesn’t deny him. He draws out his cock, which is half-hard, and asks, “Want this?” in a low voice.
Ned answers by leaning forward and taking it into his mouth. It’s warm, and heavy, and he sighs, sucking on it without moving. After a moment, Sol slowly moves his hips, and Ned moans, nods. Gripping Sol’s calf, Ned lets him fuck his mouth. Sol is gentle, working himself to full hardness against Ned’s lips and shifting over his tongue as Ned focuses only on breathing and creating a tight space for him, being a vessel.
When Ned shifts his gaze to Tom, he sees he also has his prick out, and is slowly jerking himself off, watching them with eyes burning and bright under half-lids. He smiles when he catches Ned looking and presses his thumb over the tip of hiscock. Ned’s own cock, half-hard, fills out that bit more, and he moans faintly, sucks harder around Sol’s cock.
After a few minutes, Sol pulls Ned off his cock with a light tug of his hair. He’s leaking, and Ned licks his lips, chasing the bit of pre-cum he got, the taste of Sol. Sol chuckles as he strips his cock, far harder and faster than he fucked Ned’s mouth, and when he comes he lets Ned lick his hand clean. Ned savors the task, cleaning each finger as he stares up at Sol. Next to them, Tom sucks in a breath.
“Sweet boy,” Sol murmurs, threading his fingers into Ned’s hair and giving it an affectionate tug. Ned braces against the pressure, the sensation akin to a scalp massage, and Sol smiles wider. “Come up here now,” he says, sitting back but not releasing Ned’ hair, so Ned has to follow him up and sit in his lap.
Without preamble, Sol kisses him, licking into his mouth to taste himself. He then reaches into Ned’s sweatpants for his cock, quickly works him to full hardness. He doesn’t draw it out, and soon Ned is panting into his shoulder, head tipped to the side to watch Tom. He’s getting close too, brow furrowed, hand working furiously.
He’s not too preoccupied, however, to reach over and pinch one of Ned’s nipples, finding the small ring underneath his shirt and tugging it. It’s pure pain and pleasure, and Ned cries out and comes, collapsing against Sol and digging his nails hard enough into his own thigh and Sol’s upper arm that they’ll leave marks.
“Jeez, Ned,” Sol mutters once Ned lets go, and pushes himself back up into a sitting position, but his tone is fond.
“Sorry,” Ned says, ducking his head and smiling. Sol ruffles Ned’s hair with his clean hand, and wipes his other hand on Ned’s shirt -- both their shirts are splattered with his cum. Tom, who apparently also came, sniffs in distaste, and presents his hand for Ned to clean up. Ned does so, and when Tom cups his cheek afterwards, turns to nuzzle and kiss his palm. Tom then leans over to kiss Sol on the shoulder before getting up, stretching with a long groan.
“Can I have the first shower?”
“Fine with me,” Ned says. He might need to lie on the couch for a while, or the floor, with how utterly boneless he feels.
“Go for it. I need to eat still,” agrees Sol.
“In the fridge for you,” Tom tells him. “Bake off in bed once we’re all showered?”
“Yes,” Sol says, and Ned nods, both without missing a beat -- it’s the routine.