Bookended Read Online Free

beg.”
    Ogden needs prompting, but not guidance, in slicking up his fingers, and then he’s there, right there, a third warm body, close enough that Fletcher could tilt sideways in his seat and be able to kiss him, bite his lips. Fletcher can hear Ogden’s breathing, the long exhale when Fletcher reaches with both hands to spread Julian’s ass cheeks and expose him. Ogden is trembling. He reaches out, unsure, with his dry hand, running it down the arced expanse of Julian’s back.
    “He’s not your boyfriend,” Fletcher bites out, and it hits him that at this late fucking point he’s jealous. “Don’t pet him. He doesn’t want little butterfly kisses, he wants you to fuck him senseless.”
    Fletcher clenches in sympathy at the sight of Ogden clumsily, rudely , plunging his first finger into Julian’s hole, no warning, no hesitance, all the finesse of ripping away a Band-Aid. But then Julian moans, loud and shameless, and his body arches and his spine stretches and his shoulders roll in their joints and his ass thrusts back and Ogden falls on him, fucking him with that single finger like it’s the only thing he understands anymore.
    “More,” Fletcher orders, his voice cracking at the sight of Julian’s body writhing, the sound of Julian’s gasps and groans, Julian’s fists curling into the couch cushions. He runs a hand through Julian’s hair, compulsive and quick. “More. Give him more.”
    Ogden looks to Fletcher briefly, then back to Julian, working a second shaky finger and biting his lip in concentration.
    It’s not enough. Keeping one hand on Julian’s head, sweeping his thumb around the rim of Julian’s ear, Fletcher thrusts the fingers of his other hand into his own mouth, toying his tongue over them. He closes his eyes at the sensation, bucks his hips, almost loses himself—then removes them, reaches over to thrust the first two into Julian’s hole in a press of muscle and warm lube and spit and Ogden’s knuckles.
    “ Fuck ,” Julian hisses. His fingers stretch and curl as he pants into the cushions. Sweat pricks up on his neck. Fletcher and Ogden’s fingers work inside him, no cooperation or rhythm, just feverish movement.
    Fletcher wishes Julian could see himself right now, flushed, bright with the sheen of sweat, body trembling and arching over Fletcher’s lap. He brushes at the hair behind his ear. “Good,” he praises, nearly whispering. “You’re so good, Julian. Do you want to be fucked?”
    “Yes!” he cries out as Fletcher curls his fingers inside him, stroking with the pads of his fingertips. Fletcher leans down to place a kiss on the nape of his neck. He tastes salty.
    “You heard him,” Fletcher says to Ogden. Then, still stroking, he turns to Julian and says, “That’s it, that’s it,” except the words are meaningless encouragement, just nice gentle sounds. He feels Ogden’s fingers slip free, then hears the sound of a condom packet. He keeps up a firm pace in Julian, watching the pink-red on his upturned cheek.
    He withdraws his fingers almost automatically when the blunt head of Ogden’s long cock nudges against his knuckles, impatient. Julian moans “Oh God!” and it’s fear and abandonment and relief as Ogden slowly, surely, presses his cock inside, lets out a long growl that seems to dip in tenor with—that follows his inward stroke.
    Fletcher watches Julian’s back arch, opening himself, exposing himself, greeting Ogden, his whole body saying Yes, more .
    “Harder,” Fletcher orders, through his teeth. He wants to see Julian used to exhaustion. Ogden’s face scrunches up in intense concentration, the color high on his cheeks.
    “I can’t...!” he gasps, but he’s doing it already, gripping Julian round the hips and pounding himself forward. The sound of flesh slapping flesh drives Fletcher wild. He reaches to Julian’s far nipple and twists .
    “Louder, Julian,” he says, voice shaking, and he doesn’t touch his cock, because he can’t