Page 7 of Marked Out with Greater Brightness

“You love this, and I love you.” Ash’s grin borrowed some of Blake’s devilishness and made it more fey and luminous, in hazel eyes. “Besides, I want to for me. Have you seen you, like this? Do we own a large enough mirror? We should.”

“Here.” Cam handed over the cane. Put his own hand on Ash’s: demonstrating, guiding. “Here, and this motion…I’ll show you more later if you’d like. Practice. For now, like this.”

Ash nodded. Stepped in to kiss Blake’s cheek, with tenderness. Then stepped back. And swung.

And, fuck, that was gorgeous. The two of them. The portrait, the motion, the light and dark. The way Blake cried out at the impact—physical, emotional—and arched up, and then softened, melted, collapsed into the ecstasy and the anguish of it. The awe in Ash’s face at the realization, the response.

Ash did it again, a little more gently, and said, “Nine.” Blake was sobbing softly, whispering, “Yes, yes, yours, yes…” as if unable not to speak, to assent, to submit.

Ash slid the cane between Blake’s spread thighs. Nudged it upward: making sleek wood rub along delicate vulnerable places. Blake gasped, jerked in place, sobbed Ash’s name, and then Cam’s.

Cam said, judging that one, “All right, we’re nearly good,” and held out his hand. Ash returned the cane promptly, and said, “Too much?”

“Mmm…no. He’d havve stopped you. But I want to watch you fuck him, and you’re asking a lot, teasing him like that.” He put a hand into Blake’s hair, leaned in closer, murmured against the curve of Blake’s ear, “All right, lad?”

“Mmm,” Blake got out, shuddering. “Close. His, yours…oh, fuck, Cam, please. It’s wonderful. It’s so much.”

“Thought so. One more, we said; you good with that?”

“Yes.” Blake’s eyes drifted shut, opened: holding profound tranquility. “Very good.”

“Love you,” Cam told him, and got back to it: one more, the hardest, laced across earlier lines. Blake cried out, and sagged against the post.

Ashley put a hand over his own mouth. “Was that—”

“I asked. He said to.” He tossed the cane onto a chair, did some untying, caught Blake when those wobbly legs gave way. “Come here. All of us.”

Ash listened immediately, and settled with Blake on the bed, caressing him, murmuring low words, telling him how good he was, how amazing, how wonderful. Cam lost his own clothing in rapid order, kept the rope handy, came back. “Hands.”

“You’re not seriously going to—after that, it’s not too—”

Blake held up both wrists, weakly.

“Oh,” Ash said. Blake, sprawled across the sheets, winked at him. Cam laughed, though it was more of an exhale, and bent to kiss Blake’s shoulder. He’d been pretty sure this wasn’t as rough as the first encounter they’d shared, when they’d both been so desperate; and equally pretty sure that Blake was presently aware of and exaggerating some reactions.

Only some, though; the emotions, especially when Ash had taken up the cane, were real. The yielding, the submission, the desire to be overwhelmed and dominated and claimed: that was real.

He only did Blake’s wrists, and quickly, and relatively loosely because Ash was looking somewhat anxious. He said, “Good?” and Blake agreed, lying stretched out in bed between them, a decadent sacrifice for the taking, golden rope and dark hair and tanned skin and surrender. Cam said, “I want to watch you both, so you’ll let Ash fuck you, but you won’t finish, yourself, until we say,” and Blake nodded.

So they did.

Sweetness, yielding and taking; the light and the dark, the slickness of oil, the way Ash moved, tender and still a touch incredulous at being given this, but strong and sure, hands and cock and caresses drawing Blake under him, open for him, for each thrust. Cam, beside them, kept one hand resting over the rope around Blake’s wrists; he ran a hand along Ashley’s thigh, and watched Blake’s blissful eyes track the motion, shared between them.

Ash was new to sex in general and not entirely thoroughly healthy; he did not try to make the thrusts last long, but it was beautiful, an artwork, the tension of his body, the release, the way Blake moved in response to being filled. Ash whispered, “Oh, yes, both of you, yes,” with Cam’s hand stroking his leg, and in that moment Cam wanted nothing more than to stay in this bed with them forever.

Might’ve been a disloyal thought. Or not; surely not, so many years gone. And it was pleasure, and it was true; he knew that he was allowed this.

Nevertheless he shivered all over, not from want, and he could not have said why. The yes, the undeniable fact of the yes: so painfully vivid.

Blake’s fingers curled down, above looped bonds, to touch his hand. Blake’s eyes were huge and awash with submissive ecstasy, but awake, and intent, and full of love.

Cam kissed his arm, below the rope. Blake murmured a wordless sound of contentment.

Cam fucked him like that, after Ash had withdrawn and was cradling him: Ash’s hand was working Blake’s poor neglected prick, with an impressive degree of assertion. Blake’s body was open, pink, messy with the spill of Ash’s release; Cam took him hard, made him moan, made sure Ash was watching. All of them, together.

He whispered, “Come for me, while we fuck you, like this,” and Blake trembled and stiffened and tightened around him, obedient to command.

They finished together, a breaking cresting burst, Cam spilling into him and Blake’s completion pulsing out across his stomach and chest and Ash’s relentless hand.

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