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come yet, not yet, he’s waiting for something.
    Julian, obedient, filthy Julian, sobs out a string of, “ Fuckyesmorepleasefuckfuckfuck .”
    Turning from Julian, Fletcher finds Ogden puffing through his nose, pupils blown. Looking at Fletcher like he wants approval. So Fletcher lowers his eyelids, smug, daring him, and Ogden collapses forward, digging his fingernails into the skin of Julian’s shoulders for balance, and crushes his mouth against Fletcher’s in a thorough, enthusiastic kiss, his tongue lashing against Fletcher’s own.
    He tastes of coffee and skin, and he pants against Fletcher’s mouth, forehead tipping, and just like that, his thrusting becomes erratic until he drives forward three more times, deep and disjointed, and comes without a cry. Julian, underneath him, makes an impatient noise.
    For a minute there, it’s all panting, a half-conscious sense of “what now?” with Julian slumped across Fletcher’s lap, trembling with adrenaline and Fletcher fisting his own cock out of pure frustration and Ogden peeling and tying his condom, holding the knot by his thumb and forefinger like it’s distasteful.
    And then Ogden collapses back, panting still, and runs a hand through the sweat on his mostly-hairless chest. His ribs appear and disappear with his breathing. One of his long legs dangles off the side of the couch, the other bent up at the knee and resting sideways against the cushions. His cock, soft but still swollen, a little red and shiny with lube, rests against his belly, pointing up to his tattoo, which stretches out black across the tautness of his belly: STARVING HYSTERICAL NAKED.
    A smile creeps across Fletcher’s mouth. He looks fucking edible .
    “My turn,” Fletcher says. He gives Julian’s ass a quick spank as a signal to get off his lap and then leans forward on his knees, covering Ogden’s body with his own. He bites across Ogden’s collarbone, his neck, his left pectoral and nipple, leaving a path of bite marks that meanders from his neck down to the undulating tattoo across his heaving belly.
    Julian, loitering at the head of the couch, half-seats himself on the armrest propping up Ogden’s head and reaches, almost casually, for one of the long-forgotten water bottles. He chugs half of it down in one breath—God, the sight of that long throat working, extended, his bobbing Adam’s apple! Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, uncharacteristically undignified, he raises an eyebrow in Fletcher’s direction. In question.
    How selfish is he ?
    “I have an idea,” Fletcher says, stroking his hands up Ogden’s inner thighs, taking him by the knees and parting his legs. “How about I fuck you while Julian gets his cock down your throat? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Both of us at once?” He says it offhand, like suggesting they put in a DVD. His cock throbs, watching Ogden’s face change as he pictures it, morphing from languid pleasure to something curious and fearful.
    Julian, just hearing it suggested, strokes up the length of his cock, casting Fletcher a smoldering stare that’s meant just for him. Fletcher swallows past a dry mouth.
    “Do you want that?” he asks, tearing his eyes from Julian, wanting to hear it, gripping Ogden’s knees again and pushing them back so his legs are bent up over his chest, so his hole is exposed.
    Ogden’s eyes are dark, narrowed with arousal. “Yeah,” he says, and his gaze is moving greedily from Fletcher’s face to Julian’s and back again, his mouth propped up in a crooked, pleased little smirk. “Yeah, I want that.”
    “Hold your knees up,” Fletcher directs him, letting go. “Yeah, like that. Just like that.”
    Julian doesn’t move at first, choosing instead to watch as Fletcher slicks up his fingers and begins to work Ogden open. He’s tight and nervous, and Fletcher has to coax him to relax, has to talk him down from the tension, past Ogden’s twisting body and bitten-back sounds of desire as