(germany)
He wasn't jealous.
He'd been bought years ago for Feliciano. Years. And it was true, not once in all of those years had Feliciano ever touched him like that, but he was a good master and he allowed Ludwig to do as he pleased when he was alone, so Ludwig didn't mind. It wasn't Feliciano's fault. He was just really simple. Somehow, despite being around bondservants all his life he didn't understand that you buy them to have sex with them. Ludwig wound up making absurd amounts of pasta and sauces and homemade cheeses.
That was fine. Ludwig could deal. It's not like it wasn't delicious. And some six-and-a-bit years had elapsed and it had all been fine. Whatever Feliciano wanted, Ludwig wanted.
Perhaps Feliciano's grandfather had been wrong when he brought Ludwig home as Feliciano's birthday present. Perhaps Feliciano didn't feel the same kind of urges as everybody else. At least Feliciano had a sort-of friend - neither Vargas brother got out much or socialised with anybody who wasn't a prospective or related. Maybe all Feliciano had ever wanted was pasta.
Besides, Feliciano was affectionate in other ways. He was a charming, touchy fellow. He practically radiated warmth. He took Ludwig all around Hallar, for business or pleasure, and whenever he went off-world. Ludwig existed for his companionship.
Ludwig had been taught patience. And he had a good deal. He had so much that he hadn't had to think about how strange it was he wasn't being used. But sometimes Feliciano really tried the hell out of it, and it was difficult to see where Feliciano was going with this whole game.
Now that Alfred had arrived, something had changed. Feliciano didn't touch Ludwig as much. Didn't hang off his arm, lean into his back when he got bored or tired, didn't crawl into his personal space unannounced. If he'd been asked, prior to Alfred's arrival, Ludwig would probably have replied that he didn't think the lack of such behaviours would bother him. He might have almost thought it a reprieve.
They listened to music together. Played games together. Went on long walks together. All with Alfred sandwiched between Feliciano and Ludwig like some ... some inadvertent cock-block. They took their meals around a small table. And at night, they would all fall into bed together - one large bed that Feliciano had gotten moved into their new room down the hidden hallway. Alfred in the middle separating Feliciano and Ludwig.
It was pissing Ludwig off, and he couldn't explain why.
.:.
Alfred had gone to their washroom to take a bath. Feliciano looked as though he were close to asking if he could join in but thought better of it. Instead, he called after him and reminded him where to find the soaps and cremes.
Ludwig tried not to let his annoyance show, but not very hard. His patience had expired a few days ago, and Feliciano probably wouldn't notice. He had hardly noticed Ludwig at all in the time that Alfred had been to stay with them.
Ludwig was looking forward to the auction. The sulking approach had evidently failed, so Ludwig tried to be more direct. Feliciano was kind, he was simple - he didn't know what he was doing. Never attribute to malice what one could attribute to sheer ignorance. Ludwig would give him the benefit of the doubt.
So when Feliciano handed him a bottle of wine to open, he asked him, "Signore, I must ask you, is there anything I've done?"
Feliciano gave him a beatific, innocent smile. "Ve, I don't know what you're talking about, Ludwig!" And then he turned around and returned to set the table for dinner.
Ludwig felt something within him give - not snap, just give a little - and he raised his voice higher than his training had taught him to. "You know precisely what I'm talking about! It's like you've - you've got a new toy and you've forgotten the old one! And you never touched me like you touch him -"
Feliciano silenced him with a glare. Too far. Definitely too far. How easily that slipped out of him! Where was his restraint?
"I - I'm deeply sorry, signore, I spoke out of turn," he murmured.
"If I were a bad man, I might punish you for that," Feliciano said, quietly but firmly, and he agreed. If Feliciano were any other sort of master Ludwig would have been slapped but as it was, his training was good enough that the glare alone was sufficient to shame him. "But I don't believe in punishments. I don't think it does any good." Feliciano sighed, looking pensive. "Perhaps I should have taken you aside to explain, explain what I'm doing, before you got angry with me. Oh, I don't like it when you're angry with me, Ludwig!"
"I'm not angry with you, I just -"
"I sincerely hope you don't hate Alfred?"
"I-I don't, no!" Ludwig insisted. And it was true; he didn't hate the boy. It was as impossible to hate Alfred as it was impossible to dislike Feliciano. There was an everpresent disarming magic about the both of them. Of course he liked Alfred ... but he loved Feliciano, and he had been there first, and the way Feliciano looked at Alfred, it - it wasn't fair -
"Ve, well... he thinks you might, just a little bit." Ludwig shook his head. "You should convince him otherwise, then!"
He must have seemed apprehensive, because Feliciano gave him a hug and prattled on. "What you feel now, that's what Alfred feels, all the time, you know? He's sad, he's lonely, he's been apart from his friends for awhile. He's not sure what to feel. I only want to make him feel welcome, make him feel loved." His signore leaned back and looked him squarely in the eyes, an open, honest gaze, because apparently Feliciano's words alone weren't enough to make Ludwig feel horrible about how he'd been acting. "Can you do that for me? Can you help me with that?"
"Of course I can," he said, and Feliciano kissed him chastely on the mouth.
It was his usual reward, but something about it sent sparks through Ludwig, made him tingle where he'd been touched and he wanted more - but before he could get it, Feliciano pulled away.
"I'm glad! Thank you Ludwig, I would appreciate your help very, very greatly! I have to prepare the tonics but he should be in the washroom." When Ludwig gave him an uncertain look and didn't move, he added, "Go on. Right through that door."
At the threshold of that door was Alfred. He seemed to have been standing there for awhile and knocked lamely on the doorframe. His shirt was off. "I - uh, geez, sorry. I just - where're the towels? There're none left in the cupboard."
Feliciano looked him up and down, brazenly, then looked to Ludwig with a simple, adoring smile. "Ludwig can show you," he said, an order masked by a pleasant sunshine tone of voice. Ludwig nodded and followed Alfred to the washroom.
.:.
By the time he'd returned with towels, Alfred had already drawn the bath and was sitting in hot water, his face pink. "Ah, thanks," he said. Ludwig had set them on the chair and was prepared to walk away when he heard Alfred ask, "If you, um. If you don't mind, you could - y'know, stick around. Or something."
Ludwig turned. Alfred was perched on the edge of the tub, draped over the edge to reach for the soap on a small table. "Was hopin' to talk with you," he admitted. Ludwig nodded and sat stiffly on the chair, holding the towels on his lap. He didn't mean to look so unwelcoming but Alfred picked up on it anyway. "You, uh. You seem kinda ... we don't have to talk now if you don't want to."
What Ludwig wanted was what Feliciano wanted. Feliciano wanted Alfred to feel at home. So while the boy busied himself with sweet-smelling lather, he tried to relax. He slouched on the back of the chair, let his legs fall open a fraction. It was a harder position to be in than sitting ramrod straight had been. "Is this better?" he asked.
"A little," Alfred said. "Your training gives you great posture, I take it?"
"Yes." Signore Romae was a stickler for details.
"You're uh... properly trained, then?"
"Yes."
"What was that like?"
Ludwig thought about it a minute. "Pretty much what you'd expect," he said, having collected his thoughts, "first you go through primary. My earliest memories are from there. You learn a few things. How to read and write. Anatomy. Music - I chose piano - and art classes. Sports, my favourite was football. Languages - Standard, Halleri - common and high - a smattering of others. But mostly you just play a lot."
Alfred grinned. "Kids will be kids?"
"Something like that." Although the play of real children and the erotic play of bondservant adepts were not one and the same. Ludwig remembered it wouldn't kill him to smile back. "Once you graduate, around five, you go to whatever trainer buys you for the remainder of your training. In my case that was Signore Romae.
"Yeah, him... What's he like?"
"Oh, very nice. He's kind, softhearted. But he can be very strict when it's required. He's a marvellous disciplinarian. I never gave him any cause to complain - none of the primary graduates ever did. Of course, I hear that's different, now that there are prospectives who are sold to trainers without having gone through primary. I was never permitted contact with those others, I can't tell you what they're like. I imagine Signore must take a firmer hand with them to compensate for their lack of education."
Alfred was quiet. He sat back in the bath. "You're one of them, aren't you," Ludwig asked him softly, and Alfred nodded. "You're asking me about my past to try and mimic it in case they quiz you?"
"No! I wouldn't -"
"It's fine, don't worry! I don't mind," Ludwig said quickly, "in fact I'm rather glad! This will help Signore Romae. He'll get more money for your sale as a result."
"And... that's a good thing," Alfred said.
"Of course it is," Ludwig replied. He looked over at Alfred, trying to figure out where the uncertainty had come from. For a moment Alfred held his gaze, but then blushed and drew his knees to his chest.
"So um," he began, "I guess you and Feliciano are kind of." He blushed even redder. "Uh, I mean, earlier there ..."
Ludwig supplied the rest when he trailed off. "I'm his bondsman, yes."
"Right," Alfred whispered. "So ... what does that mean, exactly?"
"I ...assume you understand the basics?"
"The whole um ... slave, thing, right?"
Ludwig was starting to wonder whether Alfred had only become a prospective bondservant yesterday. And that was very strange, because he was really quite old for that (late twenties, but didn't look it). Well, it wasn't as though he was familiar with prospectives who hadn't graduated primary. Maybe they were all like Alfred.
"The term is bondservant. Bondsman, for you. And I think you should first tell me what it is you think a bondsman does." Then he could fill in the blanks.
"Oh, uhh... but -"
"Be precise." Ludwig folded his arms across his chest, waiting patiently.
"So. Bondsmen - er, people," began Alfred. "It - it can be guys or girls. Anyway. They get, y'know... bought, and go live with their owners. And. Their owners. You know." Ludwig waited longer, until in a voice barely above a whisper Alfred said, "Have sex with them."
Peculiar... "Are you a virgin?"
"No!" Alfred said, suddenly so loud that he almost knocked Ludwig off the chair in surprise.
"Because Signore Romae could get more for your sale if you are," he clarified.
"No no no," Alfred waved his hands back and forth, splashing water everywhere. "Of course not! I've gone out on dates and stuff. I've had four girlfriends! Molly Pitcher, Phyllis Wheatley, Marian Anderson, and Lucretia Mott." He seemed inordinately proud of himself.
"Only girlfriends?"
"Uh well, yeah." Alfred looked so uncomfortable it seemed like he'd blush more if he could. "It's... back where I come from that's kinda. I mean you only do it if you have a bondservant. A-and even then, it's mostly opposite gender."
"Have you considered what will happen if you get bought by a male?"
"Yeah," Alfred replied, "'course."
Ludwig had told himself he would fill in the blanks once Alfred confessed what he knew, so he ignored the lie. (Perhaps Alfred would think more about it after their conversation.) "Bondservants do what they're told," he explained. "A servant like any other, with one notable exception that you've already mentioned. It's uncommon for you to be asked to clean the gutters or wash the dishes, but that's the owner's right if they really wanted you to. The important thing to remember is that you do what you're told. Whatever you're told." He paused to let that message sink in.
"You really want to be sold to a buyer who's compatible, sexually, with you. Obviously that's difficult to find, so your best bet is to become compatible with them. You have to read people. It's not like there's an interview process; if the buyer asks you questions, that's one thing, but you don't speak unless you're spoken to."
"Feli said I could say whatever, whenever," Alfred interjected.
"Feliciano makes different rules. At the moment he is your trainer. Romae wanted one of his grandsons to take you on and Feliciano volunteered. So everything he asks you to do, you do it."
"I've done everything he's asked me to," Alfred protested.
He wasn't getting the point! "He could ask you to pleasure him, he could have you dress in skirts! He could strip you naked and tie you to a desk and take you dry. And if you denied him he could beat you! Moreover, he doesn't even have to ask. He could just do it. And if you denied him then, he could still beat you. He could beat you for no reason!"
Alfred looked outright shocked into silence and Ludwig forced himself to calm. It wasn't necessary to terrify him, after all. "The point I'm trying to make is not that Feliciano wouldn't do that. He doesn't believe in punishment, and he's not unreasonable -"
"The point is that I'm somewhere between a dog and a sex toy, and I don't have the same rights as Feliciano does," Alfred murmured.
Prospectives who hadn't gone through primary were weird, Ludwig decided. Alfred was acting like this was some big punishment. But there wasn't anything wrong with bondservice. It was natural! Why would someone like Ludwig, with all his training, ever want anything other than what his master wanted?
If a bondsperson stopped working, you threw it out. If a bondsperson became violent, you threw it out. If a prospective couldn't be trained within an adequate amount of time, you threw it out. (Being thrown out was the punishment, not being a bondservant!) But... that had never happened. Not to Ludwig's recollection. There was a system, and it worked. It was proven to work.
"If you're well-behaved and well-trained, your owner will care for you. They'll be good to you, they'll feed you, love you, no harm will ever befall you," he said, trying to be consoling. "There's no shame in being a bondservant. You're someone's beloved companion. You should be proud."
"Sounds like you give this speech a lot," Alfred said. "I must not be the first one Feliciano's trained, huh?"
"No, he's trained a few before you. He's never asked for my assistance, but you're the first one who's been nearly fully-trained," Ludwig confessed. Fully-trained indeed! Alfred lacked help on some of the most obvious and important parts of being a bondsman, but Ludwig neglected to say this in the hopes it would keep Alfred's spirits up. He didn't want to scare him with the fear of being thrown out.
"I suppose what I say comes from years and years of classes," he said. Though in no actual class were these sorts of axioms ever learned or discussed. Ludwig and other primary students had simply ... come about them naturally. As easily as sleeping.
"I'm glad I can benefit from your experience," Alfred said pleasantly, blandly.
Ludwig really had to get this temper of his back under control. "You shouldn't stay in there too long, you'll get all pruny," he advised. "It's not good for the skin."
.:.
Some people, Ludwig knew, said some sort of prayer before dinner. Prayer would be well-merited. Ludwig half-wanted to himself, but he knew that praying would do nothing for the awful taste of tonic.
Instead, it was, "Holy mother of God, this shit's terrible," whispered across the table. Feliciano had set both their doses down first, then left to fetch his own health tonic. Ludwig didn't know much about the tonics except that Alfred's and Ludwig's were a different composition than Feliciano's. But they all smelled like rotten meat and were the colour (and consistency) of mucous.
"I couldn't agree more," Ludwig murmured. "It does get easier to take, over time."
"Yeah, I've noticed," he replied. "First night I was here I almost spat it out. Had to work my way up to the full quarter cup. Now it's ... still disgusting but somehow manageable."
"Well!" Feliciano said, as he returned, his own glass of tonic. He sat down happily and raised his glass. "Salute!"
They clinked and downed them. Then they each drank half a glass of wine. Ludwig barely tasted it but at least once he'd finished drinking, he didn't taste foul concoction every time he swallowed saliva.
Dinner was fried crabs with a rich risotto and grilled vegetables, fresh bread and more wine. Lots of wine, in fact.
Possibly too much wine, Ludwig reflected, when they all collapsed on the couch together, Alfred in the middle between Feliciano and Ludwig, the music from the gramophone floating around them, some famous Halleri pianist Feliciano was enamoured with. Wine had a tendency to make Ludwig pliable; something about the sugars and the taste got to him more than ale would, but he'd thought he had gotten used to it, after some six years of drinking it regularly in Feliciano's service.
Wine appeared to do similar things to Feliciano and Alfred. Ludwig had gotten drunk with Feliciano before, but not like this. Before it was practically platonic. Now, there was a magic around them, a sort of heady scent in the air that softened his gaze, made his chest ache with infatuation and his pulse thrum in his ears. The air seemed thicker, somehow. Humid. More difficult to breathe.
He wanted to make a mental note to jot down the vintage later, because this was truly fantastic. (And so powerful it might be better watered down. What was in this wine that messed with his restraint and reordered his training?)
"There's dessert," Feliciano offered.
"Oh god, I couldn't eat another bite," Alfred half-said, half-drawled, "I'm kinda stuffed."
Feliciano lifted the thin shirt Alfred wore and poked his stomach, teasing and testing the verity of his words. "Ve, you could fit more in," he decided. Alfred knocked his hand away playfully. Feliciano smiled; he didn't remove his hand but instead let it rest there, where it disappeared under the soft cream colour of combed cotton.
Feliciano was usually touchy with Alfred. Little brushes of fingertips on his forehead, on his neck - nearly everywhere - holding hands, constantly being in Alfred's personal space. Hugs, kisses on the cheek. It was always very chaste if you knew him. Six years Ludwig had been with Feliciano, six years of similar little touches that culminated in nothing. Not once had his master wished for anything more lurid than Ludwig's physical presence and the odd request for pasta.
So Feliciano didn't know what he was doing. He didn't understand the second connotation behind his actions, the potential to be interpreted as flirting. He didn't.
But there was touchy, and then there was this - Feliciano nestled up close to Alfred, no part of Alfred's side left exposed to air (this might explain why the boy felt so warm) - his eyes drowsy but openly, obviously passionate...
"Maybe if it's ice cream?" Alfred guessed. He snuggled deeper into the crevice between couch pillows, propping his head up with the hand closest to Ludwig.
Feliciano shook his head, his hand still resting on Alfred's stomach. "Tiramisu. It's like pudding but with cookies and alcohol."
"No more alcohol!" Alfred laughed, "I think I've had more than I should already. That might be why I find it so warm in here."
"It is really warm in here!" Feliciano agreed. Ludwig shot him a look and he explained: "I asked Grandfather to see about the stove. It's been working really weirdly lately, don't you find?"
He didn't recall any such problems with the stove, but that seemed plausible. "I'm sure Signore Romae will get it fixed," he told Alfred. "In the meantime we'll have to manage."
"We'll fix everything," said Feliciano.
"Mmm," Alfred said, agreeably. He moistened his mouth with his tongue and loosened the collar of his shirt, undoing the first few buttons. The movement was strangely thunderous in Ludwig's ears. "Y'know," he began softly, "you guys've been really great. I thought. I totally thought this would be weird or somethin' but it hasn't, not at all."
Ludwig couldn't help a sleepy, satisfied smile, and Feliciano outright giggled. "I'm glad!" he cooed.
"I - I really don't want to leave," Alfred confessed. He turned his face into the direction of Feliciano's, letting the hand propping his head up slip subtly down Ludwig's chest to rest in the centre. It looked like an accident, but Alfred didn't move his hand, and Ludwig didn't move at all.
"Ah! Caro, no, don't - don't speak of such things! You mustn't," Feliciano told him, but any scolding message there could have been was lost in his merry slurring. "Besides," he giggled into the side of Alfred's jaw, and it was only that Ludwig was so close in proximity to the both of them that he could even hear. "If tomorrow we part, then we must make the most of tonight. And nights like these. The most of what we've got. Isn't that right?"
Ludwig had experience in reading signals. Any decent bondservant would know what the master wanted before the master did. And just because Feliciano had never asked him for sex, either directly or through his actions (not before now), didn't mean Ludwig was any less fluent.
Unabashedly, Feliciano was asking for sex judging by his body language alone, but not with Ludwig. With Alfred. It was the way, when he wasn't playing eye tag between Ludwig's cautious stare and Alfred's sleepy one, that he burrowed his face into Alfred's neck, nuzzling. This had changed from touchy to downright flirtatious.
And whatever Feliciano wanted, Ludwig wanted.
It all made sense, he reflected, sidling closer to Alfred. Alfred had seemed so naive from their conversation earlier, in the bath. He had evidently never had sex with men before. Well, what if the person who bought him at auction - the boy was beautiful, someone would, Ludwig thought - were male?
It had been part of his training that Signore Romae had taught him the ropes. That was what decent trainers did. Now that Feliciano had elected to assist with training a few prospectives, he too should begin the active portion of training. That had been Romae's work, for the prospectives Feliciano had trained before. Feliciano had never slept with them. Instead he helped with more of the cognitive, behavioural side of things. He was gifted in that area, Ludwig had heard Romae say, and Romae, as an excellent disciplinarian, would be an excellent judge of such ability.
Someone had to show Alfred what to do.
If only he'd worked it out earlier, Ludwig thought. As Feliciano's companion, Ludwig could help him train others. Feliciano must not have wanted him alone. He must have wanted him with someone else. Judging from Feliciano's body language, he overtly wanted that. Wanted Alfred and Ludwig. Finally wanted Ludwig. He could have cried with joy.
"I agree completely," Ludwig murmured, moving closer, cozying up to Alfred's other side, taking Alfred's other hand from his chest where it lay and holding it in his lap instead.
"Oh," Alfred said quietly, exhaling. Ludwig weaved his fingers through Alfred's, slowly and certainly. "I thought, I thought you didn't."
"Didn't what?" he asked.
"I told you!" Feliciano chirped. "I said you were being silly, didn't I say that?"
"You did," Alfred sighed. He shifted against Ludwig, letting Feliciano have more access by leaning back against Ludwig's chest.
"About what?" Ludwig asked.
"He said you didn't like him," Feliciano said with a pout, "isn't that sad?" He traced out the path of a frown on Alfred's lips.
"I didn't say it like that! I just said -"
"That isn't true," Ludwig told him. That wasn't true at all.
"I told you so. So silly." Alfred shifted again, turning to face their master and letting Ludwig support the full weight of his upper body. Feliciano crawled happily between his splayed legs. "Silly Alfred!" he said, and kissed Alfred's neck. Ludwig more felt than heard the gasp as Alfred tensed against him, gripping his fingers.
"Ahn - I just said that it seemed like - mmm, - seemed like you were mad at me or something."
"I'm not mad," Ludwig said, to the nape of his neck. He moved to Alfred's exposed shoulder, where he could better see Alfred's profile. Alfred seemed sceptical. "I'm not!" he insisted softly. "I like you."
"We both like you," Feliciano corrected between kisses. His gaze darted from Alfred's to Ludwig's and back again.
"Uh-huh," he whispered. He relaxed fully against Ludwig and closed his eyes.
"Let us show you how much," Feliciano said, helping himself to the drawstring on Alfred's pants, tugging it carefully.
"Aah -"
"Unless you mind?" Feliciano paused.
"M-mind? Of course I don't mind -" and Feliciano grinned and continued his drawn-out, lazy unknotting. "Feels like I've been simmering in my skin for days, something about the way the air smells here, 's been driving me insane."
"Oh? Only the air? And we've had nothing to do with this?" Feliciano caught Ludwig's eyes over Alfred's shoulder, and pointed to his hand, then down the loosened waistline of Alfred's pants.
"Ngh, I didn't mean it like -" he broke off completely in a shallow hiss when Ludwig slid a hand down and wrapped a hand around his erection, prominent and firm, the head already damp - "th-aah, oh gosh yes, please."
It was the first real action Ludwig had gotten in six years. Despite that, he didn't feel the need to dawdle or drag it out. If anything the way that Alfred panted and ground up against him spurned him on faster, gripping more firmly, giving the boy what he wanted.
"Perfect," Feliciano whispered, smoothing Alfred's hair back. "You're both perfect." He leaned in and kissed Alfred on the mouth soundly. Ludwig countered with a rough kiss at the junction between his neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin. He felt Alfred's moan against his lips where he'd latched onto the side of his neck and held him a little closer, a little more tightly.
Ludwig wasn't surprised when Feliciano broke the kiss - it was difficult to kiss a writhing boy - to watch the nuances of Alfred's expressions as Ludwig worked, licking a trail up the muscles on Alfred's neck, nipping at his jaw, twisting his wrist just so until - "ah, yesyes, there," Alfred panted desperately, "just a little more -!"
"Yes, perfect, come on, that's it exactly," Feliciano said encouragingly, and reached up to ruffle Alfred's hair, directing his head backwards to rest against Ludwig's shoulder. "Such a good boy!" He let his hand fall to the side of Alfred's face and hover next to his ear when out of nowhere -
"Ah, fuck -"
SNAP
"- yes!"
Ludwig found himself abruptly, painfully erect, harder than he already was, as Alfred came, grinding his shoulder blades against Ludwig's chest and shoving himself through the tight circle of Ludwig's grip. It wasn't possible for his pants to be tight - as a bondsman all his casual wear was fairly loose - but as Alfred squirmed, he rubbed against him deliciously, and Alfred's weight made him feel constricted and tense.
Feliciano took advantage of both their distraction, swooped in and kissed Alfred deeply. And then, with a victorious grin, he wormed a hand around Alfred's trembling body and past the waistband of Ludwig's pants. As he grasped Ludwig's erection and pumped (which was distraction enough) he kissed his gasp away. Not a chaste, reward-kiss, not with his usual style, but open-mouthed, hot, wet, blissfully intimate and oh yes, perfect indeed, Ludwig thought, feeling goose-pimpled and hot-blooded at the same time.
Distantly, he felt Alfred clench his fingers - they were still intertwined with his own - as he too came, minutes later, sighing into Alfred's skin and clutching his body close.
"That was lovely," Feliciano said, when Ludwig could think again, "wasn't that lovely?" Ludwig was too exhausted to worry about how messy they both were, or to do anything but agree.
Feliciano kissed them both again. "You're both so good," he praised, and with those words, the post-orgasm exhaustion Ludwig felt melted away completely into a different kind of euphoria, which sang brightly in mad jubilation. "So good."
