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Lucy was in a bind. A jam. It couldn’t be called anything short of a pickle.
She was—what some may describe as—stuck.
It started because the summer temperatures were on loan from hell. Not even her shortest skirts nor her smallest top could combat the skin melting weather. Lucy was puttering around in the basement because it was the coolest area of the house. As far as she knew, George was at the Archives where they had air conditioning to keep the books from falling apart, and Lockwood was mysteriously unbothered by it all, traipsing around in his usual professional get up.
They were all ignoring what happened last night.
Lucy chalked it up to the fact that it was bound to happen eventually, and George probably rationalized it as the celebratory shite-case-wrap-up drinks. She had no idea what Lockwood was thinking. In fact, she remembered dancing to some old records with George as Lockwood just watched. She tried to pull him up but somehow found herself in his lap. She could tell he was hard, and he had this unreadable, ethereal expression, and then he was kissing her. Lucy ignored the rest.
Lucy tried to ignore the rest. It was just that there wasn’t anything else to do. She didn’t want to poke around the company files or have it out with Joe and Esmerelda. All she wanted to do was lie on the cool concrete floor and think about last night.
Well, while the boys were away…
Lucy was wearing a skirt for maximum airflow, and it was easy to hitch it up to trace her fingers over her knickers. Her nails weren’t long, but she dragged their blunt edges over her clit, down to the soft mounds of her lips. The touch tingled up her spine. She felt herself get hotter there between her legs, but she didn’t mind this kind of heat. She fit the hard flat of her middle finger’s nail against her clit, rocking to give herself some good stimulation. She started rubbing, quick shakes of her hand to press against her clit through the dampening fabric. The pleasure built, and last night came to the forefront.
Lockwood kissing her, sliding his hands into her pajama shorts to cup her arse. Beckoning George closer, taking his hard cock out right in front of Lucy’s face. The heft of George in her mouth and the slide of Lockwood’s fingers against her cunt. His cock inside her. George coming on her chest so it dripped down her belly to where Lockwood was still bouncing her in his lap. Then Lockwood decided to pull out and come across her stomach and her thighs.
She’d been absolutely filthy with it.
And then—
Lucy slid her fingers into her knickers, plunging two into her cunt and stroking quick lines over her clit with her other hand. Because fuck then Lockwood eased her back onto the rug, spread her legs, and said in that deep, smooth tone he used to charm people—
Oh, fuck.
Lucy came just at the memory of him ordering George to his knees, telling him to—to—
Lucy sighed as her muscles relaxed post-orgasm. Her cunt still throbbed, but the need had been chased away for just a moment. She shoved her underwear down her legs, smearing her own arousal around her thighs. They stuck at her ankles, and she kicked, slinging them off her foot.
They sailed through the air like a naughty dove in a nosedive, skidding underneath a tall metal shelf. Lucy watched them disappear into the darkness, and she whined at the unfairness of it all. She really liked those knickers. She wanted to keep touching herself, but now she would have to remember to go grab her knickers later, and who remembered anything important after the amount of orgasms she wanted to have?
How much did she really need that underwear anyways..?
If she kept touching herself, maybe Lockwood would wander in to practice his rapier drills. Maybe she wouldn’t hear him on the stairs. Maybe last night wouldn’t stay in the tipsy haze of their memories.
Lucy put a palm over her eyes and huffed, stirring the dust motes in the air.
“Okay,” Lucy sighed, rolling herself onto her knees. She shuffled towards the shelving unit and its dark strip of nothingness beneath.
One thing led to another, and: pickle.
Her knickers had slid behind a thick spider web, and so she moved the whole shelf rather than stick her hand through it. She got enough of that on jobs, and she still hated it. What did she find behind the shelf but a curious little door in the wall? She managed to slide the door up a bit before it stuck. One glance told her it was something akin to a dumbwaiter. How terribly posh.
In hindsight, maybe venturing into it to see if something was jamming it from the inside wasn’t the best idea. She was even able to squeeze half her arse in before finding exactly nothing that would help her open it any further. Shimmying back out didn’t go too well. Her skirt got caught on the door above, and her shirt snagged on the old wood below. She made it as far as her hips before she realized how well and truly stuck she’d gotten herself.
The little box was stuffy, but not even the full noontime sun could match the heat that sprang to her face.
It was quite the embarrassing position to be in.
If anyone wandered down—if Lockwood wandered down—they’d see her protruding from the wall, straining on her tiptoes and skirt ridden up to expose her arse where she hadn’t put her dusty kickers back on.
At least the dumbwaiter was spacious. Small mercies.
…
The Archives were full, and they were kicking people out who couldn’t prove they were working on a high priority case. Also known as the bigger agencies got whatever they wanted, and George was left in the dust as usual. He picked up three ham and cheese sandwiches from Arif’s lunch selection on his way home. They were the cold kind and would keep in the fridge until everyone was ready for a meal on their own terms.
If the Archives were a bust, he supposed he could reorganize the company papers. He usually only did that when he was stressed, but it might help to soothe the grumpiness brought on by the uncharitable weather.
Some of the grumpiness was due to their awkward morning after.
Or rather, the lack of awkwardness.
Lockwood acted like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t braided George and Lucy into something he could wrap around his little finger not twelve hours before. George didn’t mind the metaphorical braiding and all the other enticing activities, but George found it difficult to act normal on a normal day. The morning after licking his own spend off of Lucy’s tits was not a normal day. But Lucy followed Lockwood’s lead—the same as last night, what a surprise—which left George to frown into his pot and try not to burn the breakfast rice.
He took a cup of ice cubes downstairs with him to snack on while filing. It was a bit of a miracle he didn’t drop them.
George didn’t really fantasize that often. When he masturbated, it was usually a physical need taken care of by physical means. Sometimes it was triggered by the way Lockwood smirked at him after winning a rapier practice match (which happened a lot.) Sometimes that urge was triggered by the way Lucy pretended to be stupid and then said the smartest shit (which happened a lot.) But when he got down to it, pulling himself off was pulling himself off. No lewd scenarios or sweet nothings echoing in his head.
He got himself off this morning to the memory of Lockwood’s head between Lucy’s thighs, Lucy begging him for mercy even as she thrust her hips into his face. But in the statistically significant set of times he performed solo, he was pretty zen about it. This morning was an outlier.
He had a feeling this was going to further skew his data set.
She was… sticking out of the wall? It looked like she’d found the old dumbwaiter and crawled inside it for some godforsaken reason. George brushed the cobwebs off his memories, deciding it was big enough for her not to be totally cramped. The slits on either side of her hips would give her adequate airflow. She didn’t seem to be in pain; her foot tapping against the wall indicated a boredom at best, and, well—
Her cunt was wet. There was no way around noticing. It looked like she tried to back out but got stuck, her skirt caught in the dumbwaiter door so her arse was fully exposed. He didn’t want to fathom why she wasn’t wearing any knickers; he would just thank one of the many gods he didn’t believe in for delivering such a divine sight. With how she was bent basically ninety degrees at the waist, her cunt peeked out from between her thighs, and the dark mess of hair was stuck together with her slick. He could see glimpses of her glistening pink lips between the thick curls, and yes, that was partially because he snuck closer to get a better view.
He sat his cup on the shelf that had previously been covering the dumbwaiter, and he found her knickers balled up there. They were a bit dusty, but he quietly shook them out, running his fingers over the cool, damp gusset.
“George is never going to let me live this down,” Lucy sighed. The sound was odd in the way it bounced and muffled inside the dumbwaiter.
George went rigid like a bunny in a field at the utterance of his name, but he just as quickly relaxed. It was obvious she was talking to herself.
She tried again to shimmy out of her unlikely prison, but she stopped before even trying that hard. She blew out a big breath, and George pursed his lips together to keep a laugh from popping out. She was right at least. He was going to rib her about this until they died. Her leg kicked out, bouncing her toes against the wall like a strange sort of woodpecker.
“Wake up… eat jelly,” she warbled in a bad rendition of a Bauhaus song.
Lucy was a terrible singer.
George felt a surge of affection. He didn’t know it was possible to feel this strongly about something other than the dopamine high of getting answers from research. Or Anthony Lockwood. His face burned, and he reached up to adjust his glasses. With the hand still clutching her knickers. It didn’t help the blushing situation.
“Man, I would murder a jelly donut right now,” Lucy said.
George tucked her knickers in his pocket for some wild, unknown reason. He could always play dumb if she asked after them. He was about to sneak back to the stairs and make enough racket that she would hear him enter, but then she made a very specific noise. One he’d never heard before last night. A sort of… whimper.
“Fucking Lockwood, all his fault,” Lucy muttered, and her thighs crossed, squeezing together. “I can’t even—ugh. Lockwood and his stupid fucking mouth, and George and his—his mouth.”
George dropped silently to his knees, wide-eyed, as he watched her cunt pulse, and a thick, shining trail of her slick ran down her lips to leak over her clenched thighs. Yeah, he was definitely going to think about this when he touched himself, probably for the rest of his goddamn life. His hand had a mind of its own when it smoothed over the front of his trousers. He caught a hiss behind his teeth and snatched it back.
This was absolutely insane.
But then again, going from a couple fumbled rendezvous in broom closets, to full on getting his dick sucked by his best friend in front of and at the behest of his other best friend, was also a bit batshit. Maybe he killed an albatross, and he didn’t remember it, and the past few days were a scorching fever dream that he might wake up from eventually to find some cool relief.
Lucy moaned again, a dull thump coming from inside, and George thought any return to normalcy seemed highly unlikely. He took her knickers from his pocket, twisting them around his fingers. He pushed his other hand over his stiff cock again, gritting his teeth to keep the noises at bay.
…
Lockwood knew George was home because there were sandwiches in the fridge.
He also knew George was home because he’d been in the library, thoroughly ignoring the Tatler in his grasp, when George stomped by. A fierce instinct, like a lioness spotting the injured gazelle, sprang to Lockwood’s fingertips. He nearly tore the magazine in half, but he forced himself to calm. To wait. He didn’t know where this dark, primal part of him came from. Maybe it was always there. Maybe they put it in him, but like most things about himself, he hated and loved it in equal measure. Hated it for how it consumed him, how it demanded to pouce, to scratch and claw his best friends into submission.
Loved it for how they seemed to want it.
They were fucking ethereal last night. They bent to every steady pressure he exerted, and the animal inside howled with every triumph. They were his. They were his.
Until the easy light of day.
George seemed perturbed, but he was a wizard at putting emotions down. It wasn’t a good idea to encourage this dangerously feral thing tearing into itself inside Lockwood’s ribcage. He would do what he always did—smile and bear the pain to keep them from looking too closely. If they got too close, well… A beast could not be blamed for how it bites.
Lockwood splashed himself with some lukewarm water before venturing downstairs to find them. When confronted with them, he often found himself in that unfortunately hormonal state of low, buzzing arousal. He’d gotten good at willing down any rogue erections. It didn’t really matter in this instance that he was running through rapier forms in his head because he made it two turns of the spiral stairs and stopped in his tracks. He got so hard so fast, the blood felt yanked from his brain, making him dizzy.
Lockwood imagined them no less than twice a day. In increasingly filthy ways, he fantasized about them first thing in the morning and usually sometime in the midday after they did something that made him want to explode.
This was better than anything he ever came up with.
Like a scene from a crude stag film, Lucy was trapped in the sticky door of the old dumbwaiter, her bare arse and legs on display for the room. George was kneeling behind her, trousers shoved down, and he was fisting his cock only as fast as wouldn’t make much noise above the general hum of the house. He had a hand against his mouth, and he was holding something—fuck, those couldn’t be her knickers. George wouldn’t.
Lockwood felt something snarl and break its chains as he stepped lightly onto the basement floor.
“Well, what do we have here?” He drawled, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the stair’s railing.
George’s head whipped around like a deer at the crack of a stick. His hands both abandoned their tasks, shoving into his lap to poorly cover his straining cock. His mouth dropped open but like last night, he was largely speechless.
Lucy perked up at his voice. Or rather, her arse did, and it was helplessly enticing
“Lockwood, is that you? Can you help me out? I’ve gotten stuck,” Lucy said, breezing past the part where her cunt was shining at him like the north star trying to guide him home.
Lockwood understood now. The guilty twist to George’s mouth, the way his eyes were pleading with him. Asking that maybe Lockwood wouldn’t alert her to his peeping Tom activities. Well. Lockwood could accommodate that.
“How on earth did you get stuck like this, Luce? Are you sure you’re not just looking for a bit of attention?” Lockwood lumbered forward, loosening his tie. He let his jacket slip off to crumple on the floor.
“Looking for—? Lockwood, you prick, just get me out of this!” Lucy kicked her feet, and Lockwood tutted like scolding an unruly child.
He snapped his fingers lightly at George who was trying to disappear into the concrete. Lockwood curled a finger, and George’s eyes bulged. He shook his head silently, and Lockwood smirked, gesturing again.
George bit his lip. He clambered to his feet as quietly as he could.
Lockwood was next to her now, leaning against the wall. He said lowly, “Did we not take good care of you last night?”
Lucy went still, and Lockwood saw George’s cock twitch.
“Lockwood…” Lucy said, and it sounded like a warning. Lockwood had never met a warning he didn’t devour, so he beckoned George forward. George, who approached like a convict to the hangman’s noose.
“Are you greedy, Luce?” Lockwood asked, and he pointed at George’s trousers hanging off his knees. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder.
George shook his head again with his teeth against his lower lip, and Lockwood narrowed his eyes, cocking his head.
“Lockwood, don’t be an arse,” Lucy called, but her voice wavered. He heard her scared every night they went on a job. This was so far from that. Lockwood felt drunk with it.
George looked away, the blush on his face spreading down over his neck. It was harder to see with his darker skin, but Lockwood had known his friend for a long time. George edged down his trousers, stepping out of them and leaving him bare from the waist down. He tucked what Lockwood could only assume were Lucy’s knickers underneath his own underwear, and Lockwood could dig at him about that later. For now, he pointed at George’s chest, flicking his finger.
“Lucy, don’t be purposefully thick,” Lockwood said. “That’s George’s job.”
George did have a beautifully plump cock, and it was on display for Lockwood as soon as George surrendered to taking off his shirt. He set his glasses down on top of his pile of clothes.
“George would help me out of here,” Lucy shot back, and Lockwood had to laugh at the manic shame that flickered across George’s face.
He moved to wrap himself around George from behind, taking a moment to run his hands over all that bare skin. He walked George forward until the other boy slapped out a hand, bracing it on the dumbwaiter’s door above her with a dull smack. Lucy jolted at the sound, but then she moaned, sweet and sultry, her knees pressing against each other.
Lockwood put one finger over George’s lips, reminding him of the game, and he wrapped his other hand around George’s cock. It was wet, probably from spit, maybe from a bit of precome. Lockwood was messy; he leaked like a faucet at the slightest provocation. It made living with them hard on his laundry schedule. But George was different—even his cock was sensible. A respectable amount of excitement, bared in a pearly, viscous display. A bead appeared now, and Lockwood saw it glistening on the dark head of George’s cock, framed by Lucy’s arse in the background. Her legs were dangling straight down, and it felt animalistic, the way George’s legs caged her in. George hid his face in Lockwood’s neck.
Lockwood pushed his hips forward, guiding George to where her cunt was laid out like a meal for them.
“Lockwood!”
The first touch was electric, might as well have been to his own cock. Lucy jerked at the unexpected sensation, but she had nowhere to go. George sucked in a breath but stayed quiet. He started trembling in Lockwood’s arms, and it was divine.
“Answer me, Lucy. Are you that greedy?” Lockwood pushed until the head of George’s cock was fitted between her wet lips, and he dragged, slow and steady down the seam of her.
“Lockwood, please,” Lucy gasped.
“I won’t ask again.”
George’s breath stuttered against Lockwood’s neck, and Lockwood stroked his steadying fingers down George’s cock.
“Y—Yes?” Lucy said, and he put George’s cockhead against her entrance, spreading her wide around it before edging back to a dull, teasing pressure there.
“You don’t sound sure,” Lockwood said.
“Yes!” Lucy’s nails scraped against the inside of the dumbwaiter, and Lockwood let out a breathless, cruel version of a laugh.
“Alright, Luce, if you want my cock so bad,” Lockwood said. He shoved George forward, the lewd crack of his hips against her arse reverberating in the whole of the basement.
Lucy cried out, and George—George was perfect, pitching forward to slap his face against the dumbwaiter’s door, mouth open wide in a soundless scream. His eyes were screwed shut, and that just wouldn’t do. Lockwood dug a hand into his unruly curls and jerked, George’s eyes slamming open to cast about wildly before finding the predator. Lockwood nodded his head where George was buried in her to the hilt. George’s brows pulled together like it hurt him, but he braced his hands on the door, slowly pulling out of her.
Lockwood thrust his hips forward, forcing George back inside. The quiet researcher finally showed some teeth, lips curling back and jaw jumping as he glared at Lockwood.
Lucy moaned his name again, and Lockwood grinned wide.
“Do you like my cock in you?” Lockwood asked, tugging on George’s hair. George pulled back sharper this time, setting up a quick, staccato rhythm to fuck her. The pleasure stole all that feisty energy, his lips going lax and his fingers pressing against the wood. His lids were heavy over his eyes, but he kept them open, peering at Lockwood beneath dark lashes.
Lockwood was the snake, but George and Lucy were the charmers. If they ever realized that, Lockwood was screwed.
“Oh, oh fuck. Lockwood—” Lucy moaned, and he wondered what it was like in her position, all that breathless pleasure reverberating back at her. A sinful echo chamber.
“I do hate repeating myself.” Lockwood leaned forward, bending just enough to nuzzle into George’s neck while holding his hips far enough away for George to move. He tasted like sweat, new and old. His hair was damp in Lockwood’s grasp.
“I do,” Lucy panted. “I—I do like it.”
“I like your cunt.” Lockwood sucked at the tender skin behind George’s ear. He moaned loudly there, feeling George’s shoulders shift. “You feel so good around me, Luce. Fuck.”
George let out a puff of air, and Lockwood wondered how close he’d been before being interrupted. Was he teasing himself? Drawing it out? Didn’t seem likely. That was something Lockwood would do. Then again, Lockwood could have never imagined George holding a girl’s knickers while he tugged himself off, so maybe there were still surprises to be found. Lockwood wanted to root them out like a beagle clawing at a burrow.
“Not even wearing any knickers, Luce? Really, what am I supposed to think?” It wasn’t too hard to give his voice that breathless sort of quality. He tugged George’s hair, raising his chin to tease bites along his jaw.
“I got—oh, distracted. Didn’t put them back on, oh Lockwood please!” Her toes scraped against the concrete floor, and her thighs flexed uselessly. Lockwood was thinking about investing in some ropes. She was irresistible like this.
“Why were they off in the first place?”
“Lockwood, will you fucking touch me?” Lucy demanded, and George took a shaking hand off the door. He started to reach down, but Lockwood caught it, guiding it gently back to its place with a shake of his head.
“It’s a tight squeeze. I can’t touch your clit and fuck you at the same time. You’ll have to come on my cock if you want it,” Lockwood said.
“But you were—you were,” Lucy breathed, a hysteric hitch to her voice. “So nice to me last night. Am I not? Not good anymore?”
Lockwood frowned, and he put a hand on George’s hip, driving him forward, settling him deep inside Lucy. So Lockwood could think. He idly rubbed his hard cock against George’s arse, and the wetness in his pants was starting to seep through to his trousers.
“You know you’re amazing, Luce,” Lockwood finally answered. “That’s why I know you can do it. You can come on my cock.”
“But I need—” She cut herself off with a muffled whine. George blew a breath out of his nose and shifted back against Lockwood’s cock. Lockwood pursed his lips, moving the hand in George’s hair down to the back of his neck, holding him against the stuck door. Lockwood flexed his other arm, pushing George tighter against her. Forcing them to be still. His own cock jerked in his trousers, and there was definitely a wet spot now.
George’s eyes fluttered, and he mouthed, “Lockwood!”
Lockwood yanked him away until he left Lucy completely. George’s head fell back against Lockwood’s shoulder as his hips pumped uselessly in the air. His cock was dark with blood, shiny with her slick, and most importantly—not spent. George writhed against him, but Lockwood held him around the middle, arms at his sides.
“No, Lockwood, please! I don’t need anything. Just your cock. Just your cock, please,” Lucy begged, her knees grinding against the wall.
“Sorry, Luce, I need a moment,” Lockwood said.
He spied George’s cup a bit above eye level on the shelves next to them, and Lockwood snatched it, finding it nearly full of ice cubes.
Lockwood didn’t know why the heat wave was so hated.
It made his coworkers bare more and more skin. It chased Lucy into a dumbwaiter, apparently. And now it provided him with a cup of ice.
The heat was a gift.
First, Lockwood lifted the cup to George’s lips for him to drink the cold water of what had already melted. He miscalculated, spilling a line down George’s chin, but by the way he sucked in a breath, swaying back into Lockwood’s embrace, Lockwood didn’t think he minded. As he guided George back towards Lucy’s quaking thighs, Lockwood popped one of the ice cubes in his mouth. He set the cup back on a lower shelf, more in reach, and he smoothed his fingers down George’s stomach.
He shifted the ice to the side, and he said, “Ready, Luce?”
“Please!” She said instantly. Lockwood eased George’s cock back into her. He dropped a kiss to the knob of George’s spine, letting the ice slip forward to brush his skin. To leak down over his back.
At the dual sensation, George let out a wrecked groan.
His eyes immediately went wide, and he slapped a hand over his mouth. Lockwood swayed to the side. He made sure George’s eyes were on him as he guided George’s hips in and out—one smooth thrust. Lockwood’s brow crumpled, his lips parting, and he gave a moan almost the twin of George’s. The ice dwindled to nothing on his tongue. He swallowed the extra water.
Lockwood used George to give her another tight roll, reveling in her little gasp. George’s hand slid down his face, showing how his mouth dropped open, and Lockwood mirrored it, letting out the actual sound spinning in George’s throat.
“Oh, Luce. You don’t know what you do to me,” Lockwood said with a quirk to his lips. “I just want to last for you.”
Lucy responded with a whimper.
Lockwood pulled George back against him, away from the door, and he landed a slick grip on George’s hip. He squeezed, urging George to fuck her again. George rolled his head on Lockwood’s shoulder but started up again, slow at first, then building to a wild, animal abandon. Lucy’s filthy noises filtered freely out of the dumbwaiter, filling the basement with a lewd symphony that Lockwood was directing.
Lockwood blindly felt around on the shelf for the ice until his fingers managed to grip a melting cube. He set it against the back of George’s neck where sweat gathered at his hairline, and George sucked in a gasp. Lockwood traced it around, over his jaw, his cheek, to smear the ice over George’s lips. He opened up, and Lockwood pushed the dwindling ice cube into George’s mouth. He rubbed it against George’s tongue, melting it quickly, until it was just his fingers moving back and forth. George tilted his chin up and sucked on Lockwood’s fingers, chasing away any lingering chill.
Lockwood moaned again—for himself or as George, he didn’t know, and Lucy let out a strangled cry. Her legs flexed against the wall, and George’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“Are you being a good girl?” Lockwood asked breathlessly, and Lucy wailed as George continued to pound into her.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Lucy jerked, the door for the dumbwaiter creaking but not budging a centimeter.
“I knew you could do it. Amazing, Luce. You’re amazing.” Fingers still pressing down George’s tongue, Lockwood reached out with his other hand to grab Lucy’s hip. He felt her muscles tense and twitch, kneading his thumb into the meat of her arse.
“Lockwood, want you to—hng,” Lucy said, and Lockwood tightened his grip.
“Want do you want?”
“Please, I—inside me this time,” Lucy managed to get out, and George’s breath out of his nose was cool over Lockwood’s hand.
“I can do that. Going to fill you up,” Lockwood replied, slipping his fingers out from between George’s lips and closing that hand over his mouth instead. Lockwood reigned in the urge to match George thrust for thrust; George was doing splendidly. Lockwood continued to hold his hips out of the way, his neglected cock straining in its confines.
George braced a hand against the door and another came to grip Lockwood’s arm held against his cheek. He didn’t try to pull Lockwood away; he just squeezed tight enough there would be a bruise as he finally approached his end.
He was no less stunning in the light of day.
“Gorgeous,” Lockwood said, pulsing his middle finger on George’s mouth. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
George came completely silently, his eyes slamming shut and his hips pistoning erratically. Lockwood couldn’t help himself. He let George spill inside her for a moment, then he slid his hand off of her, pulling George back so the last weak gushes of his release spurted over her slick lips and her arse. George was panting, drawing in deep breaths through his nose, but Lockwood wasn’t ready to relinquish his mouth just yet.
He gave George’s cock a couple lazy tugs to keep the aftershocks rolling. To be nice. Then he spread his fingers over the sticky trail they left on her. He pushed his fingers through the mess of her cunt, hearing her shaky inhale, and he dragged back to the tight pucker of her other hole. George had managed to leave a stripe right over the pink furl, and Lockwood smeared the slippery fluid there, pressing just enough to have her gasp and squirm.
His thoughts ran away from him. Thoughts of pressing harder, forcing her to open up to him in this new, filthy way. Ramming a cock up her arse and one in her cunt and maybe finding someone for her to choke on, filling all her greedy holes at once to see if she could finally be satisfied. Even the fantasy soured because he tensed at the idea of anyone else seeing them like this, fucking them like this. Mine, that thing in his chest growled, fingers pushing harder into her skin. He didn’t even realize until she keened again, high and breathy, that he’d sunk his pointer finger into her arse up to the first knuckle with George’s come as their lube.
“Not today,” Lockwood said, and he pulled his fingers away.
He carefully took his hand off of George’s mouth. He backed up, turning George until he listed to the side, and he propped himself next to the dumbwaiter. He looked like some Greek statue, leaning there with his cock softening between his legs. Lockwood chased George’s mouth with his own this time, soothing an urge to claim by sinking his teeth into George’s bottom lip.
“Lockwood?” Lucy squeaked, kicking her feet. “Are you going to get me out of here now?”
“Absolutely not,” Lockwood chuckled, and he headed off her affronted noise, saying, “You begged so sweetly, I think I should give you at least two more orgasms.”
“No, Lockwood, just—” Lucy whined, and it was undercut by how a dribble of George’s come slipped out of her cunt. Lockwood undid his belt quietly, popping the button on his trousers.
“Come now, Luce. If I spring you now, it’ll ruin the surprise. You want your surprise, don’t you?” Lockwood said, grinning at George who went a little pale. He dropped his trousers and pants, stepping out of them as he again approached Lucy. George’s gaze was heady, following Lockwood’s fingers as they flew over his shirt, tugging off his tie.
They were both naked now, back to their most primal states, and Lucy—poor Luce. The way her skirt was stuck in the dumbwaiter must have been terribly frustrating. Lucky they were here to distract her.
“Surprise?”
Lockwood grasped his cock and guided himself into her cunt, thrusting forward to bury himself halfway.
“Surprise,” Lockwood purred, but it got overshadowed by her startled groan.
“Lockwood, what? You—George?” She babbled. Lockwood let his attention lapse as he luxuriated in the tight heat of her cunt, sinking in up to the hilt.
Just as good as last night, better than because she was soft and open from George’s fucking. Because he could feel the wet squelch of George’s spend forced out of her with the push of his cock. Lockwood hitched his hips a few times, letting the pleasure roll over him in thick, stifling waves. Her cunt contracted around him, and he swallowed a groan against his fist. He cast about for any sort of clarity for his voice.
“George has been here this whole time,” Lockwood said, and George cringed back against the wall. “Georgie, why don’t you say something to our dear Luce?”
George turned his head and said quickly, “He’s a fucking maniac, Lucy. I don’t understand how he does it—”
Lockwood clapped a hand over his mouth again with a wry twist to his lips. “That’s enough out of you.”
George whimpered, the sound threading between his fingers, and Lockwood’s hips jerked forward in a sloppy thrust.
“The real question is who have you got inside you now?” Lockwood said, grinding his cock into her. He took his hand from George’s face with a stern look, and George’s mouth stayed shut.
“Oh.”
Her cunt tightened like it was trying to suck him in, and he wanted it, wanted to be so deep inside her she’d never be able to force him out, wanted her to still feel him when this was all over.
“I—I… George?” Lucy said, and Lockwood smiled wide enough to show his canines. George shook his head, rolling it against the wall.
“Good guess, Luce,” Lockwood replied. “How do you want him to fuck you?”
“Oh, please. Hard, Georgie. I want you,” Lucy moaned.
“Hear how sweet she is for us? Go on. Be sweet back,” Lockwood said, and he watched George carefully. Lockwood started rolling his hips, feeling the pleasure spark low in his belly. His thrusts built until he was nearly at George’s pace earlier, fucking her hard like she requested.
“George!” Lucy gasped, and her legs trembled.
George’s brow furrowed, and a whine slipped out of his throat as he pressed back against the wall. He was so beautiful like that, and Lockwood’s cock pulsed. He didn’t have a good alternative for where to look. Glancing down would have him watching as his cock disappeared into Lucy’s messy cunt. Watching her arse take the impact of his hips. Between him and George, her arse was turning pink. Lockwood reached out to curl his hand behind George’s neck, coaxing him forward until he could rest his forehead against George’s.
“Tell her, Georgie,” Lockwood breathed.
George groaned.
“Luce.” He fit his hand between her thigh and the wall, grasping that tense muscle. “He’s… You know he doesn’t take no for an answer. Want you to come on my—my cock like you did for him.”
Lockwood stifled a low, desperate sound by crashing his mouth against George’s. They hadn’t kissed enough last night; they would never kiss enough for Lockwood’s tastes, so he pressed forward to devour his friend. Lucy keened, her toes scraping the floor, as Lockwood plowed her like a field late for harvest. She started chanting George’s name under her breath, and Lockwood wondered if she was even aware of it.
“George, George please. I can’t! I can’t,” she panted, and Lockwood’s lip curled against George’s mouth. He was going to have to train her out of that word. She could, and he would make her.
“Lockwood,” George said quietly. Lockwood pulled back to gaze at him.
There was an understanding there that flayed Lockwood open. George could see those dark tendrils grasping at the edges of him. George had always been able to see them. Lockwood felt like a cat in a radioactive box—just the act of observing him changed the outcome. George’s soft, calm eyes were able to coax that feral thing into purring.
“Help me,” Lockwood said back, finally tucking his fingers under the dumbwaiter’s door. George joined him, and without stopping the frantic beat of his hips, Lockwood managed to wrench it open, the crash of it shattering against their ears.
“Oh!” Lucy instantly tried to get her arms underneath her, but Lockwood had better plans. He yanked her back just a few centimeters. Just enough so that George could sneak his hand between her leg and the wall. “Oh, George!”
Lockwood planted his hand on her back, holding her down, and this was good too, balling his fist in her thin shirt, damp with her sweat. Feeling her quick breaths expand her ribs, and her cunt—hot, slick, trembling around him as George rubbed tight circles over her clit. He wanted to feel her come, wanted to share this, everything, with George, but the pleasure was tearing into him as surely as his own vicious desires.
Then she turned, casting a hazy look over her shoulder. He caught it with a lopsided grin, and her brows pulled together.
“Lockwood, you—!”
George did something inspired with his fingers, and her throat closed around her accusation. She came hard, cunt gripping him as he fucked into her, and he followed barely seconds later. His fist ground into her back, and he could feel the vibrations of her thin, reedy moans against his knuckles. Lockwood bared his teeth, shoving himself forward to spill deep inside as she spasmed around him. George’s tireless fingers worked to stretch her orgasm like taffy, and her thighs quivered against them both.
“That’s it, Luce. God, you feel incredible,” Lockwood said now that the pretense was lifted.
She moaned, turning her face into her arms.
“So before…” Her voice floated, strained but not angry. “Before was George.”
Lockwood groaned, pitching forward when she flexed around his spent cock. He softened quickly, and their combined fluids dripped out to leak over his balls, her thighs.
“Is that… okay?” George asked, his hand slipping away. She reached down and tried to snatch him, but she wasn’t quick enough. He took her hand anyway.
“It—yeah. It really is,” Lucy said. She glanced over her shoulder, and it was soft. Brilliant. George beamed at her like a sunflower finding the sun. Lockwood leaned in, ducking into the dumbwaiter to press a kiss to the back of her neck.
“Luce,” Lockwood said, and she maneuvered an arm over her head, hand finding his hair to pet through the sweaty strands.
“Now will you get me the fuck out of here?” Lucy huffed, letting them both go.
Lockwood skimmed his fingers over her cunt, tracing up to press against her clit. He spoke into her nape.
“One more. Give me one more,” Lockwood said, and despite the heat, she shivered against him.
“Maniac,” she muttered, and he reached under her shirt to unclasp her bra. He abandoned her clit, moving out of the small space to grasp her thighs.
“Roll over for us,” Lockwood said.
Her limbs were stiff, and she groaned as she rolled, probably at the bruises settling into her midsection. They scooted her back until her arse was resting on the lip of the wall, far more supported than before, and her legs were leaning, knees together to the side. He set his hands on her shins, prying her legs apart until she was spread wide for them. She whimpered softly, throwing an arm over her eyes as they both looked their fill—Lockwood like a predator inspecting the herd and George like a supplicant at the altar.
“George, I think you know where you belong,” Lockwood said, and George dropped to his knees. Lockwood moved out of the way so that he could shuffle forward between her legs. Lucy peeked out from under her arm and moaned at George eyeing her cunt.
“Lucy?” George said, tracing his hands down the underside of her thighs.
“Yeah, Georgie,” Lucy replied, and in the shade of the dumbwaiter, Lockwood saw her lips twitch. “Thank you for asking.”
Lockwood reached in and tugged at the hem of her shirt. He said, “Off.”
He wasn’t asking.
He watched a quip spin in her throat, and then she looked at him, demuring at the brutish edge to his gaze. She wriggled out of her top and bra, balling the fabric over her chest. Lockwood grabbed the bundle, and he pulled it away to expose her breasts. Her nipples were hard, pink peaks, and a bead of sweat rolled from under her breast, over her ribs. She groaned as her arms crossed over her stomach. Her shoulders curled in.
“Arms up,” Lockwood ordered. “Let us see.”
George moaned at the sight of whatever the terse command did to her core, and Lucy flattened her hands to the opposite end of the dumbwaiter. Lockwood stepped up behind George, boxing him in between her thighs, and he bumped George with his hip. George looked up, and despite having just come, Lockwood felt a dull throb behind his cock. This was it, what he craved—these gorgeous, talented people looking to him for control, for guidance, for pleasure. No matter the ironic circumstance of the sticky dumbwaiter, they both chose to surrender to him.
“Go ahead,” Lockwood said thickly.
George didn’t need to be told twice. He swayed forward and licked a long stripe through her parted lips, gathering the various fluids there on his tongue. He fit his mouth over her clit, and she shouted, not a word but a misshapen sound of pure, shocking pleasure. His hands flexed, tendons popping out, as he held her thighs open, her heels bobbing next to his head.
“Oh my God, George!” Lucy cried, her nails scraping against the old paint.
Lockwood liked the friction, liked to rub his tongue against her cunt and clit until she was shaking with it. When he had her spread on the rug last night, he found a good rhythm of how to stack her orgasms, chasing one after the other, but he just might take some pointers from George. Their talented researcher seemed to have been doing some research indeed if her breathless wails were anything to go by. He sealed his mouth over her clit, his lips flattening against his teeth with how hard he sucked. Lucy’s hips bucked into his face, and he rode it out, shifting with her easily. When she landed, he shook his head like a dog with a bone, groaning into her cunt. Lucy did it again and again, her heels barely finding the edge of the dumbwaiter to give her just enough leverage.
They were so fucking stunning like this.
George, eating her cunt like he was starved and Lucy, writhing against him, speaking in her erotic tongues. Maybe they had something of the same bestial desperation tucked away inside. Maybe that dark thing prowling in the depths of him wasn’t as lonely as it seemed.
Even this hedonistic display wasn’t enough to keep him at bay. He was selfish like that, always wanted to be the one touching them.
He picked up another ice cube and held it above her stomach, unnoticed by either of them. He tucked it into his fist and squeezed, the cold water leaking around his fingers. The first drop hit her belly, followed by a cool stream, and she gasped. Her eyes flew open from where George had screwed them shut, and she met him with wild, devastated eyes.
“You looked a bit peaky,” Lockwood said, taking the last vestiges of the ice and smothering it against her skin, just above her belly button.
“Lockwood, you—you—oh, fuck,” Lucy spat. George was still doing his best to suck her sanity out of her clit, and Lockwood resolved to chase away any stray hints of reason she might be able to cling onto.
Lockwood took another piece of ice and pressed it against her ribs, rewarded with another gasp. He curved it up between her breasts, running it quickly over her skin before it disappeared. He pushed it down over one breast and circled it around her nipple as it dwindled to nothing. Her back arched into his touch, and her moans hit a fever pitch. George’s fingers were digging into her thighs.
“Give us what we want, Luce,” Lockwood said, taking an ice cube directly to her other nipple, pinching the delicate skin between the ice and his fingers. “Then we can take you somewhere nicer to fuck you.”
He could tell the moment her orgasm hit her. Lucy’s throat closed and her spine curled forward like she was reaching for them. George kept her legs wide even as they tried to close around his head, and when the ice had melted to slip away down her breast, she was still trembling. Lockwood rubbed his thumb back and forth over her nipple as the pleasurable waves slowly subsided.
Her hands came off the back wall, and she reached down to take Lockwood’s hand. Her tongue came out to soothe her lips, dry from all her gasping. Her legs dropped down, winding around George as he stood to join them.
“Do you mean it?” Lucy asked, and Lockwood felt a candied lie spring to his tongue.
Last night, George had helped him carry her to the attic, sated and utterly spent. He’d seen George off to his room, equally dazed, and they’d all fallen asleep like they would any other night. Separated. Alone. There hadn’t been anything outside of the cozy embrace of the library.
He didn’t know if he could manage that a second time.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Lockwood said, and he felt George grip his arm, tight and unyielding.
“Not ever,” George said. His chin was messy with all their combined fluids, and he was always a bit softer without his glasses, but Lockwood shuddered at his intensity.
Lucy moved to cinch her fingers around his wrist, and she repeated, “Not ever.”
Damn. They figured it out.
Lockwood glanced between them, an old fear clogging his throat. When his tangled feelings said mine, the universe usually took that as a dare, but they were still here. After everything, every treacherous, deadly foe, Lockwood &. Co was left standing. Was left whole.
“Not ever,” Lockwood said with a slow, careful smile.