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Kevin wants to get married.
This is not an opinion, nor is it a matter of gossip — it simply is. Anyone with a working pair of eyes would guess it, and anyone better than Andrew would tell him to tie the knot as tight as it gets, just in case.
The revelation is no revolution: it is as old hat as they come. It should not have taken Coach’s wedding for Andrew to find it, but he hasn’t been looking this way.
Coach’s ceremony had been charmingly bland, with the usual song and dance — Abby’s white gown was conservative, but David Wymack could not be expected to wear a suit in his old age. They compromised on a white dress shirt that might’ve as well been Kevin’s in a decade or two, and got married off in a tiny church a few blocks down Wymack’s childhood home. The vows were cheesy, the food was so-so, the music would be better off for a funeral: Andrew had no thoughts about weddings. He had never imagined one day he’d have to.
Kevin enjoyed it more than anyone thought it could be possible: he danced Abby’s first waltz and walked her down the altar, loudly complained about the champagne and laughed over the music when a guest tripped over a chair. It was a rare facet of him in the face of celebrations — he is never this overjoyed for birthdays or holidays, and never so easily moved by his emotions.
Somewhere between what’s been borrowed and what’s been blue, it stands true: Kevin wants to get married. Of the three of them, he is the only one that believes in that, still — the only one who can still afford the hope of white picket fence houses and anniversary trips, a lifetime of people who squabble and fall over themselves like puppies instead of people who rage and rage. The thought is so foreign Andrew can’t even conceptualize it, and yet this is something he has to have an opinion on; because now Andrew has the prospect of a future, and he needs to live it out.
It hits him, then, just how much time it takes to fill twenty-something years — for someone so sure they’d die at the first inconvenience, he doesn’t know what to do with all this life that is there to live. Andrew has fought and killed for the notion of survival, but it leaves him with the rest of his years to finish it: what now?
He cannot imagine Kevin would be happy marrying him. Neil, perhaps — but Kevin is different; softer than them all. He would need more than what little Andrew can provide, and he would be unhappy when push came to shove. He’d never say it, either: but Andrew would know. Not only that, but he would see how it would weigh on Kevin, the tell-tale signs of his weariness as the years go on, and they would be miserable. They would be miserable old people, with nothing but a gold band keeping them together.
Or we could be very happy, Neil’s voice chirps in the back of his mind. He does that, these days — argues his way into optimism, does not let Andrew stain anything with his one-man doomsday cult. We could have a lifetime of bickering over cereal and kissing with tongue.
The thought is so absurd, Andrew has to rest his face into its usual frown. It is childish, and silly, and ridiculous — and dream-like. The best scenario; what Andrew would make of life if only he had the power to do it.
Andrew knows Kevin wants to get married. It doesn’t stop him from blurting it out when they’re standing a few steps away from the dance floor, Kevin’s braided hair as dark as his suit. The night is coming to its sweaty end, white cake served and eaten, and Andrew’s heart beats out of his chest like he just ran a marathon.
“You want to get married,” he puts down. Not a question.
Kevin drops his glass of peach juice, the painful smash of it echoing through the room. No one turns to look at them, too busy or too tired to help, and Andrew pushes Kevin back so he does not hurt himself with the shards.
“What?” Kevin yelps, squirming out of Andrew’s hold.
“You want to get married,” Andrew repeats. Flat. He cannot afford to scare Kevin into this, but he doubts it’s preventable.
“I— Andrew,” he frowns. “That’s not true.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow. “But it is.”
It takes a second for Kevin to say, “I’m sorry,” which is not how Andrew had meant for this to go.
“No,” he almost chokes out, clutching at Kevin’s wrist. It is so bony — soft, really, like it has never had to hold up the weight of a gun. Andrew knows, for one, it hasn’t. “Not sorry. Kevin.”
“No, really,” Kevin insists. “I’m sorry. I don’t know— why I want it. It’s stupid. I’m happy as we are. I don’t need more.”
“Kevin,” Andrew doubles. He feels dumb, at sudden: for having said it, for having cornered Kevin into admitting it, for having done no favors to his so-called partner. Andrew wants to take it back desperately, but in real life there is no such thing. “Kevin. I did not mean that. Stop it.”
“You just said it out of nowhere, what else could you mean?” Kevin replies, looking away. He’s flustered, reddish from it, and Andrew would marry him. He would. “It’s fine, Andrew. It’s just a childish dream.”
But Andrew knows how the things one wants in childhood haunts them forever — he is just old enough to see the shape of it, how it weighs on Kevin’s back. This is a dream he has convinced himself he cannot have, and the idea baffles Andrew when almost nothing does: that Kevin, perfect even when he isn’t, does not see the lines of fans that would do anything to marry him. Does not see that he is not the kind of person who ends up alone, even when it might seem like so.
Kevin wants a marriage of love, though. Perhaps the Moriyamas would have found him a nice girl in due time, someone smaller and gentler who wouldn’t manhandle him as roughly as Andrew does, and they’d have pretty children for Tetsuji’s descendants to slave away. That would not have been enough for Kevin if he didn’t love her, but it would settle him, or at least the years would. He tries to imagine Kevin as someone’s groom, and comes up empty: he has been Andrew’s bride for so long the church bells might as well ring loud.
“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew says. “Anyone would marry you.”
Kevin shrugs. “You’re not anyone, though.” He adjusts his sleeves arrogantly, “As I said, it’s fine. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”
“We don’t need to get married if you’re already acting like a neglected young wife,” he comments, swirling the coke in his glass. Andrew’s reply has Kevin freezing in place, and he takes it as an opportunity to stir him away from people’s eyes. “You’re stupid if you think you haven’t been the nagging wife all this time.”
“Pfft,” Kevin says. He tries to smirk, but he’s smiling.
“Find yourself a veil,” Andrew hums, and he cannot believe he’s doing this. “Then you come talking to me about this again. Only then.”
Kevin tilts his head to the side, a chunk of hair falling over his face, and he’s not scared anymore. The vice grip around Andrew’s heart loosens at the sight. “Okay, Andrew. Okay.”
“Your wife has been waiting for you all night long,” is the first thing Andrew announces when Neil opens their hotel room door, his collar askew and his tie hanging by a thread.
Neil, a bit tipsy but not so much so, almost staggers at Andrew’s comment, face red. “My— wife?”
Andrew nods his head towards Kevin, who’d been reading next to the bedside lamp. He’s just in his usual sleeping clothes, soft and clean, but he acts the part — Andrew briefly considers buying him a flimsy silk robe to match, but decides against it for the time being.
Kevin splutters, “The— Andrew?”
Andrew shrugs. But he’s started something when he opened his mouth, and they know this: the room grows warmer just by accepting it as the dare that it is.
Neil is cleverer than both of them combined, and he picks up on it flawlessly. “Then I’m sorry to my wife for making him wait,” he says, throwing his tie away and kicking his shoes out as he gets through the threshold. His hair is messy from the long night, falling this and that way in short curls, and he looks almost amused at Andrew’s antics. “What are you up to?” Neil asks.
“Had an enlightening conversation today,” Andrew hums, reaching over Neil’s head to tug Kevin’s braid free. It’s a tease, and normally Kevin would move away in annoyance — now, he stands still as a rock. It seems Andrew struck gold. “I would tell you, but it depends on what our little wife thinks about it.”
This time Kevin sucks in a breath for real. Neil does too, but he hides it with a cough.
“Jesus Christ, Andrew,” Neil says between coughs. “What the fuck is up with you today?”
“Nothing,” he replies, making his way to the bed and sitting by Kevin’s side, thighs brushing. “Just fulfilling marital duties it seems I have been neglecting.” Gentler, he brushes his knuckles against the back of Kevin’s ear, tucking a stray strand of hair away from sight. He does not exactly explain what he means, but he thinks Kevin understands anyway — Andrew cannot say I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, but he can at least do this. He can make Kevin understand in other ways when words fail him.
“Oh?” Neil leans over, hands resting on Kevin’s knees. The touch grounds him more than Kevin lets on, but Andrew sees it: how his shoulders relax, how his forehead softens. It’s been years since Kevin has feared being squished between them, but some habits are hard to break. “May I kiss the bride?” He asks. The permission is not just Kevin’s, but Andrew’s, too. He does love when Neil asks to touch Kevin.
“Yes,” Kevin breathes out.
“Hm,” Andrew says, considering it. Neil does nothing without his permission, which almost has his hands shaking in contentment. He pets Kevin’s head like a cat as he thinks. “I suppose you can. But alas — there is much to fix, tonight.”
Permission given, Neil doesn’t give a fuck about what else Andrew has to say. He does not keep his hands to himself as he reaches over to kiss Kevin, so immediate and desperate it has Andrew’s teeth clacking in need. He could make a comment about Neil’s lack of finesse, about how clumsily he handles Kevin, but he eats his words as soon as their mouths meet. Andrew is never as clever as he likes to pretend he is.
Neil deepens the kiss to an almost bruising extent, gripping the vague shape of Kevin's waist under his sweatshirt. Kevin's hands rest on his shoulders, massaging gently, and Andrew can't stop looking. The emperor is naked, and he can't seem to look away.
Kevin lets out a quiet sound when Neil's teeth sink on his bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood, and it — the sound or the taste, Andrew can't tell — surprises Neil into pushing more roughly against Kevin. From there on it's the silent clack of domino tiles falling one by one: Kevin's head bumps against the frame of the bed just as Neil tries to grasp at his torso to maintain their balance, their kiss not breaking even then.
When Andrew realizes they do not mean to stop, he digs fingers into the curls of Neil's hair and peels him from Kevin like a kitten by the scruff of its neck, no ounce of resistance found in Neil's body as he lets himself get dragged away.
"Sorry, sorry," Neil pants, dissolving on Andrew's palms like a pill.
"Gently, Abram."
"Yes, I know, sorry—" But he does not look it. Kevin's eyes are wide as he looks at them, switching between the hand on Neil's hair and Andrew’s face as if the world moved out of rhythm. It might as well, when he is like this — Andrew doesn't pretend to know how muffled his head gets. "Sorry, Andrew."
"It's fine," Andrew replies, letting him go.
He hovers near Kevin next, holding his chin between his index and his thumb to check on the tiny cut where Neil's teeth met skin. Kevin's mouth opens on instinct at the mere touch of Andrew's thumb, perhaps proof of how out of it he feels — though no command is given, he assumes it by presence alone. "No, Kevin," he murmurs, though he places the tip of his nail against Kevin's tongue anyway. "Are you okay?"
"Mm," Kevin hums.
"Abram," Andrew calls, and Neil moves closer immediately, as if he's been waiting to do it. He hovers just behind Andrew's back, not quite touching, and Andrew doesn't need to turn around to make sure he's watching. "Gentler now. Like this."
He slips his thumb out of Kevin's mouth and replaces it with his own, grabbing the back of Kevin's head with one hand and resting the other on a restless thigh. Andrew digs his nails in through the fabric of Kevin's sweatpants as he deepens the kiss, tracing the back of Kevin's teeth with his tongue, and forgets himself for a second — forgets that this is a demonstration, a warning, not permission to do as he pleases. It might as well be, with how pliant Kevin turns in his hands.
They part with a tiny whimper from Kevin's mouth, the soft plea for breath that it is. Andrew pants in tandem with Neil, who had no reason to be as breathless as they were, and turns to him to announce, "Like that. Gentler."
Neil hums, "I'm afraid I still don't understand."
Andrew rolls his eyes. Then kisses him, a lot more rougher — he's come to know what both of them need, and it is always different. Kevin craves affection, approval; he melts when Andrew treats him like he is precious, because he needs to feel safe in order to experience any pleasure at all. Kevin doesn't like not knowing where his feet stand, and Andrew has mastered easing him into pliance.
Neil, however, likes to rage. He wants Andrew to reprimand him, pull him by the back of his hair and make him do it again and again until he gets it right. Minds don't always fracture evenly, and though this Andrew doesn't understand, he offers it anyway. If anything, he thinks the contrast of how he is treated in relation to Kevin turns Neil on — or at least ushers him to try and get Kevin to misbehave all the more.
The reminder of Neil's utmost goal at any given time has Andrew clenching his fingers in Neil's hair as they pull away — "Do not try to corrupt Kevin. He is not as undisciplined as you."
"Yet," Neil smiles.
Andrew tightens his grip a fraction before letting go. "He won't be."
He offers a hand for Kevin to lean his chin on, and despite all his power and might, Exy's number 1 does just that, even bending at the neck to do so. Just seeing his face this up close has something in Neil flickering, but he knows better than to try and kiss Kevin again without Andrew's permission.
"What do you want?" Andrew asks, looking at Neil where he cannot stop looking at Kevin.
"Is it okay to take your shirt off?" Neil replies with another question, pointedly ignoring Andrew.
Andrew’s fingers tighten around Kevin's chin, but he does not say anything, because tonight is not about him.
"Yes," Kevin says, barely above a whisper. He worms closer to Neil, pushing out of Andrew’s grip on his face to half-sit on his lap, knees folded between Andrew's thigh.
Neil reaches the hem of Kevin's shirt with a smug grin Andrew will find immense pleasure in wiping out, but he is stopped by Kevin for a beat. "Gently," he murmurs, parroting Andrew’s words from earlier.
Neil's grin melts into a soft smile. "Of course," he nods, tugging the hem of Kevin's shirt over his head.
Kevin is so good-looking it's almost unbearable, and that is old news: Andrew traces each new strip of skin with his gaze, watching the way Kevin's strong shoulder blades taper into the gracious curve of his waist. His hips used to be so skinny Andrew could see the shape of the muscle underneath, but they aren't anymore, plumping up under raised knife-tip scars.
Andrew rests his hands on the very nook of Kevin's pants, but makes no move to take control of the situation just yet. He's curious to see what Neil will do.
Neil moves forward until Kevin backs away, fully depositing his weight on Andrew's thigh. He moves so differently now, all sharp angles — it's easy to forget how willingly he let Andrew manhandle him out of Kevin's space before. Neil's hands rest on the expanse of Kevin’s waist, thumbs tracing small shapes up and down the bare skin, and he offers Andrew a smile over Kevin's shoulder before zeroing on the side of his neck.
Kevin shivers at the contact, but today Neil is all teeth: he sinks his teeth in the very junction where Kevin's neck meets his shoulder, the perfect circular indent of his bite soothed by apologetic pecks around the area. He leaves a trail of bite marks all the way down to Kevin's sternum, then doubles his effort on the regions where Riko's scars still live on.
Kevin yelps softly when Neil closes his mouth around the skin of his hip, losing his balance and falling back into Andrew. A better man wouldn't, but Andrew is no good — he closes his hands around Kevin's chest to keep him straight, sizing his pecs against the grip of his fingers in spite of himself.
Neil muffles a laugh against Kevin's lower stomach, looking up at Andrew in amusement. He almost wishes Kevin would fall forward instead, hitting Neil's head straight on, but that'd mean he would not be hearing the way his breath hitches with every squeeze of Andrew's hand.
He noses at the back of Kevin’s neck, breathing in skin and cologne alike, and licks a streak right up to his jawline. "How unusually quiet my wife is being," he muses out loud.
Kevin’s response is a full body shiver, almost a flinch — Andrew can't tell how he feels when he's turned away from him, but he knows Kevin isn't quite where he wants him to be yet. Safe, he reminds himself, he needs to feel safe.
Andrew kisses his shoulder, lingering down his back, and bats Neil's hands away when they try to slip under Kevin's sweatpants. Then, he dips his fingers down Kevin's abdomen, pressing gently with the heel of his palm.
"Quiet down now," he murmurs, and practically sees both of their ears perk up to listen to him better. Andrew kisses the back of Kevin’s ear before continuing. "Shh, shh. Enough now. Relax."
Kevin desperately grabs at Neil's shoulders to ground himself. "Andrew," he gasps, tight strung like he always is when asked to relax. "Neil—"
"Mhm," Neil says, his voice low and gentle. It settles Kevin, the sound of it, because his breathing gentles too. "Listen to Andrew."
"Sorry, I'm—"
Andrew closes his mouth for him. "No sorries. Those are only for Neil."
Neil laughs from his — frankly very comfortable — newly found spot on Kevin’s thigh.
"Can I—" Kevin starts, but stops mid-phrase. They wait for him to gather his thoughts through the fractured ways his brain works when they're like this. "That is, do you— I want—"
"Anything you want," Neil concedes easily. "It's all yours already. Just ask."
Andrew is glad at least one of them can say it.
"I want to— Neil, come here?" Kevin requests instead of finishing, his words surprisingly clear for a man being touched in all of his softest places.
Neil comes up to be face to face with him, and Kevin throws his arms around his neck instead of saying anything, clearly done with attempting at wording for now. Neil allows Kevin his clinging, smiling at Andrew over his shoulder, and he enjoys it more than he lets on.
Andrew slides his palms down Kevin's back slowly as he asks: "You wanted Neil to touch you?"
"Yes," Kevin replies, muffled by the long open collar of Neil's shirt.
"Then I suppose he can," Andrew concedes, caressing Kevin's shoulder blade and stopping just short of his back dimples. "Until I say otherwise, that is."
He finds the curve of Kevin’s hip and parks his hands there, tugging him down until he is a heavy weight on Andrew’s lap. Kevin pulls Neil along with him, squished between the two of them with barely no space left for breathing, and Andrew’s hands tighten. He hopes they leave a mark.
Kevin’s squirming around helps no one, brushing against the bulging on Neil’s social slacks, and Andrew feels no better. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he muses to himself quietly, guiding Kevin’s hips into small grinding motions against the muscle of his thigh. It is gentle, because Kevin is gentle — he moves in tandem with Andrew’s hands, brushing Neil on his way up, and it is not enough. It can’t be, when he’s this much of a tease.
Andrew’s hands become rougher, his guiding more forceful, and his own huffs get overwhelmed by Neil and Kevin gasping in each other’s mouths, almost brutally grinding together due to Andrew’s manhandling. When he’s sure Kevin will keep up the blistering pace even without Andrew’s guidance, he scratches down Kevin’s back with the tip of a nail, watching the muscles contract and each hair rise as he goes.
“Don’t you want to feel good?” He hums, maintaining Kevin’s pace when it falters. “You don’t have to be so gentle. Take what you want.”
But he knows, and they know, that Kevin can’t. Likes being ordered around too much, which would be sad if Andrew didn’t think it to be the best thing to have happened to them ever since Riko Moriyama dropped dead.
When Neil reaches for the hem of Kevin’s pants again, Andrew doesn’t bat him away. It confuses them both, but Neil takes his chances wisely: before Andrew can chastise him, he slides the material down Kevin’s thighs, kicking off his own dress shirt in the process. Neil is so handsome it feels unendurable on Andrew’s best days, the shape of a scarred body searing the back of his eyes, and Andrew slams Kevin’s hips against Neil’s harder as punishment. For being handsome, that is, and for making Andrew want him.
“Can I—” Neil mutters between kisses, addressing the both of them. “Do you want—?”
There is a moment where Andrew thinks he won’t continue after all, too busy with Kevin shoving his tongue as far down Neil’s throat as it goes, but he gets there with a pinch to Kevin’s hip. For that, Andrew pinches Neil back, but it is hardly noted.
“Do you want me to prep you?” He asks at last, gently laying down kisses against the arc of Kevin’s shoulder.
Andrew’s attention perks up. Kevin considers the question for a second, and Neil continues the trail of kisses while he waits for an answer. For good measure, Andrew tucks the entirety of Kevin’s hair against the other side of his neck, as if granting Neil permission.
“Can— would you?”
Neil smiles. “Of course. How polite.” He rests his chin on the curve of Kevin’s neck to tease at Andrew, “I think someone’s been waiting patiently.”
Neil is awful, terrible, of all men the worst — because he is right, and because Andrew hadn’t thought it to be noticeable. He prides himself in his composure more often than not, but Neil always seems to find the cracks. He always seems to know what Andrew wants. He is unendurable.
Quietly, Kevin points out, “Andrew doesn’t have to wait if he wants me.”
“No,” Neil agrees. “But I think he likes it.”
Andrew considers flicking Neil’s forehead for the comment, but he’s too pleased by Kevin’s answer to do it.
Neil peels himself off of their tangle of limbs to look around for a bottle of lube, leaving Kevin and Andrew to entertain themselves. Andrew thinks about it for a few seconds before turning Kevin around in his lap, thighs bracing Andrew's hips. He's only in his underwear and socks, which is now so familiar a sight Andrew has to let out a snicker.
"You're wearing socks during sex?"
Kevin looks back at his feet as if he hadn't even noticed it, then knocks his nose against Andrew's in retaliation. "And so? It gets cold at night."
"I doubt it. You just think socks will prevent a foot fetish."
Kevin's face is a study in horror as Andrew’s words compute. "That's disgusting."
"And socks have never stopped anyone," Neil comments from where he's diving head first in Andrew’s messy luggage.
"Absolutely not," Kevin replies, more embarrassed by that prospect than by the fact that he is stripped down to his underwear on Andrew's lap.
Andrew tunes out of their voices to appreciatively run his palms down Kevin's ribs and stomach, resting his hands right where his thighs meet his hips. Kevin fidgets with the collar of his shirt, but doesn't ask Andrew if he can take it off.
"Yes," Andrew says, answering a question Kevin would not be brave enough to ask. "You can take mine off."
Kevin blinks, wide-eyed. "Are you sure?"
He is, because this does not feel as big as it once had — it does not hold as much meaning as it used to. If he can tease Kevin about wearing socks during sex and get a laugh out of it, then he can take his shirt off in front of them.
"Yes," he repeats. Andrew could warn Kevin to be gentle, but there is no need to: he always is. Though Kevin had been a reference in passion in the past, it seems the years have softened him.
Kevin carefully touches the hem of Andrew's black shirt, keeping eye contact. His eyes are long and elegant, more so than Riko Moriyama's have ever been, and there is a sick pride in knowing that. Kevin lifts it until it's near Andrew's chest, then nudges him to raise his arms to get the rest off. The shirt messes up Andrew's hair, which Kevin pats back into place almost awkwardly, then gets folded near Andrew's hip; pushed aside.
Kevin looks at him again, as if gathering nerve, before lowering himself and pressing a kiss to the very center of Andrew's chest, right above his heart. He is so unbearably romantic, Kevin Day — Andrew can hardly stomach it. The kiss turns into a gentle suction, then into a mouth-shaped hickey between his pecs. Kevin trails his kisses lower and lower, until he's nuzzling the curve of Andrew's belly in an angle that must not be comfortable, the touch tingling through him.
Andrew takes a moment to think about it — this body, that is, and how it exists. Kevin is far taller than him, but he is also much slimmer: his ribs press against the skin of his torso, sometimes, and his lanky frame makes him all the much easier to spot in crowds. He does not have Andrew’s square waist, the tight muscle built over the years, the legs that stand on their own; the Moriyamas took that from Kevin when they put him under their insane diets for more than a decade of his life. Kevin will never grow strong like he could.
He thinks he should like that fact less than he does, as he watches how slender Kevin’s thighs are. Andrew is not above admitting this: he likes it. He likes how easy Kevin is to overpower, his towering height almost irrelevant in the grander scheme of things — if Andrew wanted, he could hold Kevin’s wrists above his head and his legs on his shoulders and there would be no struggle; no hardship.
Most people would not think of Kevin Day as easy to subdue, but they have not seen the things Andrew did. They do not see, now, how easily he yields when Andrew grabs him by a slim thigh and sits him up on his lap again, hands behind his back. He has no reason to manhandle him like this, not really; Andrew just can.
And what can Kevin do, really, but just take it?
"Andrew?" Kevin breathes out, not even bothering to struggle against Andrew's hold on his wrists.
"Abram," Andrew calls instead of answering, patience running thin. "The lube?"
"Wow, you're impatient," Neil grins, standing at the foot of the bed with the bottle of lube in one hand and a condom pack in the other, as if he'd been staring at them all this time. Andrew knows he was — slick fox. "Here it is." He shakes the bottle in front of Andrew cheerily.
Andrew loosens his hold on Kevin’s wrist, thumbing at the fine bone to ease out any kinks. Neil just turns Kevin around once more, his back now to Andrew’s chest, and places a pillow under Kevin's hips for easier access as he lies him down.
Neil's face is quickly framed by Kevin’s legs, looking up at them with a smile that speaks of nothing holy. "May you hold open our dear wife's thighs for me?"
For what it’s worth, both Andrew and Kevin do a really great job of ignoring the twitch in Andrew's pants at the request. "Kevin," he warns, placing his hands under Kevin's thighs and helping them open.
Andrew keeps his grip firm, but does not intend to hurt — he waits until Kevin relaxes against his chest to pull his legs wider, knees almost touching his chest. Neil hums pleasantly as he runs his palms around Kevin's waist, stopping at his underwear. "Still yes?"
"Yes," Kevin replies. Then, after a moment, lifts his left hand towards Neil — offering.
Neil's mouth and forehead soften, and he takes Kevin’s hand in his while the other gently peels off the last layer. When it's off, Neil touches the bare inside of Kevin's thighs reverently, drawing circles with his thumb. It raises a shiver between the three of them, that intimate touch — Neil lowers his head to press his mouth to the hinge of Kevin's legs, then trails down to his thighs, leaving bite marks in his wake.
It’s torture for the both of them; Kevin, because Neil won't touch him anywhere he needs him to, and Andrew, because he cannot do anything while he's holding Kevin up. Neil has outsmarted him.
He trails his finger against the skin of Kevin's thigh before coating it with a generous amount of lube, nearly staining the bed. Neil gently prods around before pushing in the first finger, untangling his fingers from Kevin's to wrap around him with his other hand. Kevin scrunches his nose at the vague discomfort of the first stretch, but starts letting out little gasps once Neil distracts him enough with his hand.
Neil leans forward to kiss Kevin's thigh at the same time Andrew reaches around to caress Neil's earlobe, a perfectly-oiled machine just hovering over the ground. Kevin uses the easing of Andrew's hold on his leg to rest it on Neil's shoulder instead, like a queen and her footrest, and Andrew knows the implication doesn't get lost on Neil by the look on his face.
"So relaxed," Neil half-praises and half-teases, kissing Kevin's ankle. He starts moving his finger in and out, eliciting a few choked out breaths from Kevin, then carefully slips another one in. "Hurts?"
"No, ah," Kevin gasps. "Just—stings a little."
"Behave," Andrew intervenes, keeping Kevin's legs restricted to stop the tentative rocking of his hips. "Do not hurt yourself."
"Andrew—it doesn't hurt." Kevin squirms around, trying to loosen Andrew’s grip on him to no avail. "It's fine, it's okay, it doesn’t hurt—let me move—"
But now that he's asked, Andrew wants to allow it even less. "Quiet," Andrew puts down. "Enough now. Stay still and take it."
Kevin makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, as if he meant to argue, but Neil derails it by slipping a third finger inside him. This time Kevin crumples breathlessly against Andrew, a pained little whimper escaping him as Neil slowly pushes the finger in. The sound melts Andrew in ways he did not believe possible, and he runs his hands down the back of Kevin’s thighs soothingly.
It does not usually hurt, this process, but Kevin is pulled taut by the entire marriage debacle — he's stretched too thin, too tense to relax like Neil wants him to. It is Andrew’s folly that he keeps doing this: making Kevin nervous, even when he does not mean to.
He almost wants to nag at Neil to be gentler, but Andrew knows this is as gentle as it gets. Kevin's tender strings just need a break from being pulled.
Andrew kisses the back of his ear, moving a hand between Kevin's legs to wrap over Neil’s. He squeezes Neil's grip around Kevin, steady and slow, then guides both of their hands up and down. Andrew trails his mouth down the curve of Kevin’s neck, breathing him in like he means to tuck Kevin in his belt and keep him there.
"I'll—" Kevin gasps, "if you don't stop—"
"You can," Andrew easily concedes, biting on Kevin’s earlobe. He keeps the rhythm of his and Neil's hands tight and slow, working him up like he knows Kevin likes it. He considers his words for a second, twisting Neil's wrist on the upstroke, then says just loud enough for them to hear: "You're so pretty. I want to see it."
It works like fire to gasoline. "I'm—I'm gonna make a mess, I'm gonna—the sheets—" Kevin worries even at the brink of an orgasm, but Andrew could not give less of a fuck about the sheets, and he knows Neil couldn’t either.
Neil thrusts his fingers in at the same time he closes his teeth around the fleshy inside of Kevin's thigh, at the same time Andrew gathers their hands and squeezes, and Kevin is long gone. He heaves a choked-out sob, back gently arching, then lets out a held-back moan that could've only mirrored the things Andrew dreamt about when they first met.
The world falls blissfully quiet for a moment: Kevin breathes harshly, the only sound in the room. Andrew doesn't know how long it takes for him to whine at the overstimulation, wiggling away from their hands, but it comes eventually.
Neil attempts at getting his fingers out of him, using his now free hand to pat Kevin's thigh, but he's stopped by Kevin's legs around his neck.
"No, stay," he asks, still breathless.
"So clingy after coming," Neil snickers, though he stays right where he is, using Kevin's thighs as a scarf.
Kevin pants heavily for a minute, gathering himself, and Andrew can tell the moment he truly relaxes; how his eyes unfocus and his hands cling as if not even meaning to, seeking to be as close as close can be. Andrew’s hands, which had been resting on Kevin’s stomach, get gingerly pulled over to the height of Kevin's mouth, and he kisses the tip of each finger with a blissed-out softness that took Andrew years to understand.
"Want something?" Andrew murmurs, looking back at Neil. He looks so lovestruck Andrew has to move his gaze away, but Kevin is still kissing his fingers like he will die if he doesn't, so there's nowhere to hide.
Kevin gently rubs the tip of Andrew's pointer finger against the skin of his bottom lip. "I want you to tie me up," he hums, eyes half-closed. "I want you to—like I was bad."
Neil perks up. "Bad like me?"
"Maybe," Kevin replies quietly, looking up at Andrew as if waiting for a verdict. "I trust you. I want you to make it so I have no other option but to relax, and give in."
Andrew grabs his wrists. "Only here. And nothing you can't get out of alone."
Kevin's eyes are wide as the moon. "Okay. Now?"
Neil laughs, slipping his fingers out of Kevin and wiping the mix of excess lube and cum on the sheets. Andrew hopes they burn it once they leave this hotel room.
He does quick work of a makeshift pair of cuffs with the hotel's pristine white pillow case, testing it on himself first before ever offering it to Kevin, who expectantly offers his wrists to be tied. He looks so trusting it almost makes Andrew want to change his mind, if only for a minute — what has he done to deserve this trust?
This is a question he does not ask out loud. Instead, he fusses over Kevin's tied wrists, tightening just enough for it to not slip off.
"Is this what you wanted?" He asks, using his teeth to tie off the last knot.
Now kneeling on the bed, Kevin nods. Neil rips out a condom from the pack he prepared, biting off the seal and offering a sharp-toothed smile to Andrew. He knows what Neil is going to do before he even does it, and prepares himself for the feel of lube-stained lips against his, though they are never as bad as Andrew would like to make it seem.
He shivers when Neil's mouth meets his, a scarred hand sliding down his shoulder — and no further — in question. "Can I?" He asks.
"Yes," Andrew breathes in.
Neil smiles against his mouth, pulling the hem of Andrew's pants and underwear but not entirely taking them off. He wraps a hand around Andrew for stability, then helps the condom on with careful fingers. When he is done with it, Neil grabs the bottle of lube and applies another generous amount to his palm before smearing it on Andrew, who has to bite back a shiver.
Kevin is waiting obediently with his tied wrists kept to himself, watching them with big eyes. He looks so smitten Andrew almost needs to turn away from him, but Neil himself does quick work of getting Kevin to turn around and adjust his knees around Andrew's thighs, barely able to balance himself with his hands rendered useless.
Neil steadies him with both hands on his waist, and Andrew rests his on the slight curve of Kevin’s hips. A bit of adjusting has Kevin’s arms around Neil's neck, tied wrists crossing behind his nape, and he looks like an entire buffet between the two of them, unable to do anything but take whatever they give him. Andrew could finish just from the sight alone.
He should, he thinks. A self-restraining challenge, perhaps — have Kevin all tied up and pretty in front of him, begging to be touched, then do absolutely nothing about it. Andrew files the idea for later.
"So cute," he whispers along the warm skin of Kevin's back. "You're gonna let me fuck you?"
"Andrew, I've been—waiting, I'm—" Kevin dissolves into pleas, then gets cut off by Neil's mouth on his. He gasps, "Mhm, yes, yes, just do it."
"Not yet," Andrew says, sliding his hand down Kevin's chest and gently thumbing at his head, pulling a shiver from Kevin. He’s not entirely hard again yet, but he's been sufficiently bullied today; Kevin will get what he wants. Eventually. Licking a stripe from Kevin's mid-back to his shoulder blades, he hums, "You deserve it, though. What an obedient little wife."
"Andrew, fuck," Kevin all but twitches in his hand. "Just—just, do it, really, it's fine, I'm ready, Neil did a good job, you've never hurt me before, come on," he babbles, straining himself to look back at Andrew while Neil bites a path down the column of his neck. "Andrew, Andrew, now, come on, s’il te plaît."
The spiel makes his heart thunder against his chest, so clear Kevin's need of him is. "Impatient," Andrew tsks, trying to keep his breath stable as he pulls Kevin down to him. "And yet, you've made your point."
He smears some more lube over himself before pushing into Kevin, so slowly he could be barely moving at all. It's overwhelming from the get-go, the urge to do something about the warmth around him making his breath shallow and his face warm, but Andrew’s self control is no small feat. He continues on, careful.
Kevin lets out a quiet keen as Andrew guides him to sink deeper, gentler than he ever thought he could be. He clings onto Neil, who watches on with dilated pupils as Andrew disappears inside Kevin inch by inch, his breath so loud Andrew almost feels it fog up the room.
Kevin's knees give out the second Andrew is entirely inside, the only thing keeping him steady being his tied wrists and Neil's arm strength. He supposes even Exy can have its perks, if it means watching a man twice his size fold into himself like a pillbug when Andrew’s inside him.
"So good," Kevin says, muffled by his mouth on Neil's shoulder. "You're so—mhm, you're so hard."
"Fuck," Neil curses under his breath. Andrew reaches a hand around Kevin to touch him, wrapping Neil in strong fingers and stroking him along with Kevin's little grinding, pushing Andrew deeper with every movement of his hips.
With a sharp bite to Neil's shoulder, Kevin babbles something unintelligible — perhaps a reprimand for his language. Andrew uses his free hand to find a grip on Kevin’s hip, bouncing him on his lap as Kevin's movements get sloppier; almost lazy.
Pillow princess, Andrew wants to tease. It is not often Kevin bothers with riding him, even if the sight is always incredible — Andrew finds himself thinking he must've spoiled Kevin too much over the years, though he cannot find fault in it when he takes (and how he pleases to take it) Andrew’s manhandling so sweetly.
This time it is no different. Andrew moves Kevin's hips like he's hardly more than a fucktoy, and Kevin allows him — he lets Andrew set the pace and take pleasure from just sitting there and moving him how he pleases. No amount of jacking off in empty stadiums stalls thinking about Kevin Day can compare to this.
He pushes Kevin down and makes him stay, squirming around Andrew for any friction, and the tightness has him choking back a quiet stream of curses. Kevin gasps into Neil's mouth, surrounded on both sides, and pushes back against Andrew at the same time Neil places a hand on Kevin's belly, humming.
"Bet you'd love to be small enough so that there's a bulge here when you get fucked," he muses, scratching down Kevin's abdomen. It quivers desperately under his touch. "You just like being treated like that so much, right?" Neil punctures his words by gathering Kevin's hair in his hand, making him expose the elegant column of his neck. "Like Andrew could just fold you in half and have you any time he wants to."
Forced to look up, Kevin mumbles something under his breath that gets lost between them.
Neil smiles, sharp and cutting. "What was that?"
"You too," Kevin replies. Andrew's pace quickening has him losing his words for a second, but a tug on his hair brings him back. "Ah, you—you too, if you wanted."
"Me too?" Neil repeats, something reflecting in his eyes that wasn't there when the night started. He has a sadistic streak on him, one not so often indulged, and Kevin continues to serve himself up to Neil on a silver plate. "You'd let me fuck you in court? On the ride back home?"
Neil sucks a hickey right beneath Kevin's Adam's apple before continuing, brushing scarred knuckles between Kevin's legs. "At Eden's, maybe. On the shower after a game, against the wall — you'd let me?"
Kevin gasps, head rolling back. "Yes, yes, anything you want."
"Hm, but I wouldn't," he says, sucking a mark under Kevin's jawline. Andrew gasps against Kevin's neck on his bounce back down, breathing heavily with his mouth so, so close to Neil's on Kevin's skin. "Not after a game, where all these people that want you so bad can hear what you sound like when you're getting fucked."
The crudeness of his words make Kevin whimper, and Neil taps his puffy bottom lip sympathetically. It opens immediately, and Andrew watches as Neil slides two fingers against Kevin's tongue, keeping them there even as he continues to speak. "Do you think they imagine it?" He asks, oh so conversationally. "When they're angry at you, do you think they imagine what it's like to fuck Kevin Day into submission?"
Neil hums to himself like it's funny, and like Andrew isn't three seconds from finishing from his mouth alone.
Around Neil's fingers in his mouth, Kevin struggles to say, "No! Not—" he is permitted word by Neil's benevolence, fingers leaving Kevin's mouth with a shiny trail of saliva connecting them still. "I don't want anyone else to fuck me, I don't—"
He sounds so close to tears just by Neil's talking and Andrew’s hands thrusting him back on his lap, gasping quietly against Kevin's shoulder. He is right where they want him to be.
"Of course not," Neil concedes, tucking a stray hair behind Kevin's ear with one hand and shoving his fingers inside his mouth again with the other. "No one said you wanted to, pretty. Only that everyone else in the industry does." He leans close to Kevin's ear and, subsequently, to Andrew’s face — his eyes are so wide and so blue, and yet his pupils seem to take up half of them. "I know, for a fact, that fucking my hand does not feel half as good as the real thing."
Fuck.
"You've—ah," Kevin shivers, "thinking of me?"
His eyelashes brushing Andrew’s cheek, Neil's face splits with a smile that speaks of nothing good. "Of course." He thrusts his fingers in and out of Kevin's lips for a brief pondering moment before putting down, "Thinking about fucking you until you cry whenever we had an argument. Thinking about Andrew holding your legs over his shoulders and making you swallow your arrogance. That kind of thing."
Kevin gasps as Neil forcefully grabs his face, fucking his fingers in his mouth as if there was nothing he'd rather be doing. It makes Kevin flush a terrible red, eyes half-closed in embarrassment — this is their prideful bride, after all, and no one has treated him like this before.
Andrew decides to take pity on him, and sucks the back of his earlobe before requesting, "Give me your wrists."
Neil doesn't look all that pleased about having to take his fingers out of Kevin's mouth, but he helps with maneuvering Kevin's wrists so that they are no longer tied behind his nape. Andrew’s hands are small, definitely much smaller than Kevin's, but he takes hold of his tied wrists anyway — Andrew uses his free hand to gently push Kevin down, until his chest is touching the bed and his face is squished against it, tied hands buried underneath himself with nowhere to go.
"Good?" Andrew asks, squeezing Kevin's wrists for reassurance. His fingers crawl across Kevin's back and settle on the back of his head, not quite applying pressure yet. "Like this?"
Kevin makes a strangled sound from the back of his throat. "Andrew," he says, sounding needy, but he doesn't specify any further.
Andrew lets go of his wrists to grab a hold of Kevin's waist, moving his hips ever so slowly. This position makes Kevin look — and feel, too — so kept: Andrew admires the way he is allowed this, not for the first time tonight, taking in the sight of Kevin's back muscles contracting with every thrust. There are marks of teeth down his spine, courtesy of Neil’s mouth, and a single, perfectly round indent on his ass, though it is near fading now. Andrew decides not to ask.
Neil's antagonistic streak seems to have lost power for now, and he pets Kevin’s hair, looking over his head with infuriatingly pretty blue eyes. He smirks once he notices Andrew’s staring, leaning over Kevin's body to press a kiss to Andrew’s shoulder.
Andrew likes him almost too much. He lets the hand pressing on the back of Kevin’s head come free, ignoring his little gasps, and uses it to yank Neil closer for a kiss, smashing their mouths together all the while maintaining the pace of his hips. Neil smiles into the kiss, digging his fingernails into Andrew’s shoulder, and pulls back with a heavy pant.
"Kevin," Andrew calls, squeezing his waist for attention. "Can Neil use your mouth? Yes or no?"
Kevin gasps at the request, trying his very best to turn around and catch their eyes but ultimately failing. "Mhm, okay, yes—" he grits his teeth, "But— no hands—"
Neil pats his waist sympathetically. "You don't need them, babe."
"He'll come just by looking in your eyes," Andrew scoffs. He knows he’s getting close himself, and he's grown tired of Neil's mouth: what's the most efficient way to shut him up other than to give him something to moan about? "You need only to breathe a little too hard on his dick."
Neil opens his mouth to retort, which is never a good sign, but gets derailed by Kevin gently nuzzling his hip. He looks down to meet Kevin's eyes, and though Andrew can't quite see what happens, he thinks he knows well enough by the way Neil's blush goes all the way to his chest. He’s a sucker for eye contact, even more so when he's getting blown — Andrew would know.
"Fuck," Neil murmurs under his breath, putty in Kevin's hands. "You pretty thing."
Kevin nuzzles Neil's lower belly. "Just don't push my head down," he asks, licking a stripe from Neil's belly to his abdomen. "Or go too hard."
Neil runs his fingers through Kevin's hair, face softening. "Of course. Would never want to choke out your pretty face." He tilts Kevin's chin up with the tip of his fingers. "Ready?"
"Mhm."
Andrew watches as Neil gently guides himself into Kevin's mouth, his lips puffy and bitten raw from all the abuse they had been put through. Kevin keeps eye contact the entire time, looking up at Neil with eyes no doubt the size of the moon, and Andrew watches Neil's resolve dilute like water. His entire face crumples up in pleasure, a rough moan leaving his mouth, and it turns Andrew on enough to remind himself to chase his own high.
Neil doesn't thrust his hips, but instead places a hand on the back of Kevin’s neck and uses it to move him up and down. True to his word, he doesn't push when Kevin chokes, and keeps a steady pace that seems to chip away at his attitude little by little. Andrew’s thrusts gain momentum enough to jostle the entire bed, pushing Kevin to take Neil further, and the sight is almost too much.
Andrew feels so sensitive just by looking at them — Neil's hands guiding Kevin's mouth, the way Kevin's hips cant up to show a delicious shoulder to ass ratio, how intense their eye contact is. It's too much, it's not enough, and his skin burns in every spot it meets with Kevin’s in harsh smacks. This is the kind of thing his nineteen year old self had wet dreams about, with or without the meds.
"Good, so good," Neil gasps, breathing harshly, "a little bit more, fuck." Kevin lowers himself all the way down, his eyes watering, and he's so good. He's so good, so eager, always so ready to take what he's given. Andrew needs to touch him. "Ah— Love, mhm, don't hurt yourself—"
Andrew angles his hips to hit Kevin's prostate on his every other thrust, reaching around to stroke him in time. He desperately whimpers around Neil, overwhelmed, but it takes him almost nothing to finish, taking Andrew with him in one fell swoop. Neil pulls out of his mouth on a whim, feverishly stroking himself, and follows right after, streaking a bit of the bed and Kevin’s cheek.
Something takes root — quiet and cotton-like, almost hazy. Andrew pulls out and barely avoids collapsing on top of Kevin, who falls face first into the bed. There is a minute of quiet before Andrew's tying off the used condom and leaving the bed to throw it away. Kevin quite likes physical contact after sex, but that's usually Neil's job to entertain; when Andrew returns from the bathroom with now-washed hands and his boxers back on, Neil is using a hotel towel to gently clean off Kevin’s face.
"Come on, baby," Neil croaks out. He throws the towel to the ground once he's done with cleaning Kevin's face, then tugs his makeshift handcuffs off. Kevin is both mentally and physically checked out, allowing Neil to do as he pleases, but he seems quite happy to be rid of his restraints. "Good, thank you."
Kevin smiles droopily, humming his reply. He lets Neil tie his hair into a high ponytail for bed, but squirms away when he tries to clean his body, oversensitive and no doubt overstimulated. "Just trying to clean you up, you're too sensitive," Neil murmurs, trying again. He's gentler the second time around, and Kevin allows it, even if he still hisses when the towel makes contact with sensitive or sore spots. "Almost done, I promise."
Andrew sits with them on the bed and leans his chin against Neil’s shoulder, watching him check for kinks on Kevin's muscles and anything that would otherwise need his attention. He likes this: Neil is so careful and methodical, even watching him take stock of Kevin feels soothing. He cares so much.
Neil traces the shape of his teeth on Kevin's hip for a second, touching around dark hickeys, and asks, "Hurts?"
Kevin shakes his head. Andrew wonders if his throat hurts, or if he simply doesn't feel like speaking. Neil seems to wonder the same thing, because he questions, "How does your throat feel? Want some water?"
"No, I want to sleep," Kevin croaks out, his voice faint but not wrecked.
"Okay," Neil puts down. "I'll get you your pajamas and you can go to sleep after."
Andrew makes a sound of disagreement to Neil's shoulder. "He needs to drink water."
Neil hums. "I'll get some for you, too. You sound exhausted." He pats Kevin's head in reassurance, then extracts himself from Andrew's cling to reach across the room for the mini-fridge.
On this side, Andrew considers transferring his cling to Kevin, but shies away from it. He's always so vulnerable like this — loopy, and impossibly soft, too — , Andrew fears he might be too rough with his hands if he tries to touch. In the end, he allows Kevin to curl closer to him, but doesn't try to touch him any further, mindful of the finger-shaped bruises on his hips and waist.
"Don't sleep yet," he says, tugging gently on Kevin’s hair where he is using Andrew’s thigh as a pillow. "You need water."
Kevin makes a soft sound of confusion in the back of his throat, nuzzling Andrew’s thigh like he hasn't heard a word of what's been said. Andrew huffs in amusement, marveling at how pliant Kevin is at times like this, despite how unyielding he can be — that his arrogant and prideful nature melts into something this mellow and easy to bend, curling closer to Andrew in search of comfort. It no doubt takes a lot of trust, and Andrew wonders if anyone else has ever seen him like this. He's pleased to find that no one before them must have gotten close enough to do so.
Touching the stray strands of Kevin's ponytail, he repeats himself: "No sleeping yet. Not until you drink water."
Neil reaches the bed again just as Kevin is about to reply, offering Andrew one of the bottles of water and pressing the other to Kevin's lips, careful not to jostle him from his spot at Andrew’s thigh. Neil watches Kevin's Adam's apple go up and down as he swallows, and traces the elegant curve of it with the fingertips of his free hand, earning himself a scrunched up nose from Kevin as he squirms away.
"Cute," Neil murmurs, taking back the bottle and placing it on the nightstand near his side of the bed. He helps Kevin into a pajama shirt and boxers, but doesn't bother getting a shirt himself, nowhere as ashamed of his scars as he might've been years ago.
They end up in bed with the previous sheets stripped away, Andrew and Neil sleeping on the bare mattress — because they don't mind it — with Kevin lying over a blanket — because he is spoiled rotten and used to a life of pampering. Neil's sleeping in the middle of the bed today, an unusual occurrence, and Andrew rests his cheek between his shoulder blades just as Kevin moves to lie on Neil's chest, effectively trapping him on both sides.
"So clingy," Neil muses, patting Kevin's head.
Andrew makes a non-committal sound against the skin of his back, reaching across Neil's torso to fist his hand on Kevin's shirt. He's near asleep by the time Neil thinks to make another comment about how clingy they're being towards him, but Andrew cannot imagine he's that bothered about it.
Kevin starts snoring no sooner than two seconds into lying down, mumbling in his sleep and no doubt drooling on Neil's chest, but he doesn't complain.
They could be happy together, and Andrew finds that they already are.