7
"If you cannot be silent, I will get the gag," August says coolly, keeping his tone as even as he can. He has had centuries of practice to work on a poker face, countless failures serving to fuel his skill, and in the end, it serves only this one purpose. If his grandfather could see him now, his fury would be as relentless as the tide. August's lips twitch at the thought, and he allows himself a quick glance at the figure on the bed, careful not to show any expression other than mild displeasure. Francis whines when he sees him looking, his fair hair a tangled mess around his head, face as red as a tomato, his mouth falling open as he sinks down onto the fingers pressing against his opening. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks before they fly open again as he gasps, feet kicking fruitlessly. August wants nothing more than to pounce on him. Pin him down upon the bed and ravish every inch of his small frame. Sink his fangs repeatedly into his flesh until the only marks decorating the pale skin are his own. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and he swallows compulsively, ripping his gaze away from the sight. A quiet chuckle reaches his ears, and he glances over again, only to be greeted with the sight of Athanase spreading Francis' legs and showing just how many fingers he's managed to slide into his insides.
Francis whines, turning his head to hide his face in the shelter of Athanase's hair. His blush is so vibrant that August thinks it could give an apple a run for its money. Ignoring Athanase's smug face, he allows his eye to wander down the displayed frame, skipping over old scars and bite marks, all the way down to the part of his thighs where his folds have parted like the red sea before Noah. They glisten like jewels, partially due to the thick coating of lube that Athanase has covered his fingers in, but also due to his earlier orgasm. Absentmindedly, August licks his lips, imaging what that sweet mixture would taste like on his tongue. Francis would keen perhaps and squirm, but Athanase would hold him still as August explored with his tongue. A marvelous idea, one to be enacted later, he decides and turns back to his desk. "Given how small your hand is, you'll need more than four to properly prepare him," he says innocently, relishing in the way that his prince immediately glowers.
"I think you'll find my hands to be sufficiently large enough to please our esteemed friend," Athanase replies huffily and twists his fingers. The sound that Francis makes in response will haunt his dreams for many a night, August is certain, and it takes all his strength to not surge to his feet. Instead, he exhales a sigh and picks up his pen once more. The paperwork on his desk is not going to fill itself out. Stacks and piles of papers that require the attention of the acting Grand Duke. Perhaps, I should not have been so mouthy with the Queen earlier, he thinks tiredly, but even with the documents before him serving as a reminder as to why he shouldn't sass Faustina, he finds no regret in his gut. Athanase had smiled after all, and that alone makes the whole endeavor worthwhile.
"If that is what you believe, Darling, why not try and put one in," he says mildly, setting aside the first sheet and beginning to read. There is pure and utter silence in response to his suggestion, but August need not glance over to know that Francis is pressing his red face into the crook of Athanase's neck. It is a given that that is what he is doing. Years of experience have taught him that Francis flusters faster than even Athanase, a feat he hadn't thought possible, but unlike the shapeshifter, he has stamina. He hums to himself, unsurprised when there is an irritated hiss from the bed. "Yes, Dear?"
"Fuck you," Athanase replies succinctly. "Francis and I are going to have a lovely time, and you can keep doing whatever it is that you're doing."
August's lips twitch despite themselves, and he can't entirely fight the fondness that curls around his heart at the sound of his voice. It's still a little off - a hoarseness to the tone that the suave Marquis de Mazan would normally never condone - and yet when he thinks about how just last week, he'd been unable to emit so much as whimper, it's relief that blossoms into existence. And though he knows deep down that he shouldn't be getting attached to someone as volatile as the prince, he can't help himself. They've been friends since he was first appointed mage of the court, and enemies for even longer. August can't imagine a life where Athanase does not play some significant role, even if he wants to throttle him at times.
"Someone has to keep the queen happy," he says pointedly, rather than the million other phrases that come to mind.
"Someone does; indeed, an unhappy royal leads to an unhappy realm," Francis speaks up then, his own voice pitched high with audible need. He exhales shakily a moment later, his voice disintegrating into a long whine that has the hairs on the back of August's neck standing up.
"And as the royal in question, I can tell you that I'm feeling quite unhappy," Athanase responds, smugness seeping into his tone.
"Not my royal," Francis says as sweet as sugar, and August hastily presses his hand to his mouth, holding back a laugh as Athanase squawks in protest.
"Just because you happen to live in the backwaters of the French Empire doesn't make me any less of a prince!" He snaps, bristling like a disgruntled kitten. "I'll have you know that –"
"The only thing princely is your inability to do any work, princeling," August cuts in, unable to resist needling him. "How long is poor Francis going to sit on your fingers before you start doing something?"
"That – oh fuck you!"
"At this rate, no one will be fucking anyone, least of all you."
His only answer is irate grumbling, followed by a squeak and then the sound of light feet doing their best to stomp across the room. The stomps would be more successful if Athanase didn't weigh 120 pounds, soaking wet, but August keeps such thoughts to himself. Looks up just in time to move the stack of papers as one of Francis' flailing feet knocks against the desk. Arches an eyebrow as the shortest member of their trio is placed down in the windowsill, his back resting on cushions worth more than August's salary, and his view of the garden is suddenly blocked by Athanase's naked ass.
"I was enjoying the view," he says and reaches out to poke said ass teasingly. "I can't say that this is an improvement. In fact, one might even make the case that it is a – mmrf." Hands curl in his hair, gripping borderline too tightly, but such complaints shatter like glass in the wake of a baseball, as warm lips meet his own. He returns the kiss with unmitigated need, leaning into it greedily, his own hand landing on Athanase's neck and hauling him in closer. Angles his head to kiss him deeper, lungs crying out for mercy that he cannot grant, for Athanase is kissing him back just as hungrily.
Withdraws slightly when his lungs can take no more, panting slightly, his eye searching the face of the one before him. Messy locks of silvery blond hair come loose from their ponytail, long lashes that hide mischievous chaos, high cheekbones – the left one still bruised from the business end of a fist – and narrow lips curled back into a smile. He's obnoxiously beautiful, the pink tint to his skin only adding to his appeal, and August can hardly resist the siren call of his lips. Leans back in to kiss him again and again, until his face has gone from pink to a deep red.
"A blush suits you well," August says softly and ruffles his hair. "Now be a good boy and go fuck our dear magician." Winks at Francis over his shoulder.
"Don't tell me what to do," Athanase grouses like he's not leaning needily into August's hand. "Be a good boy and finish your paperwork." Spins on his heels and flounces over to the window. August watches him, unable to tear his attention from the sight of Athanase bending over Francis and pressing the softest of kisses to his lips. They exchange words, too softly for even his vampiric hearing to pick up, and then Francis is leaning up to kiss him. His hands rucking up Athanase's shirt as he strokes his back. August looks away, his heart hammering like the beating of a drum, arousal sinking its claws deeper into his nether regions. He sighs.
"Get to work, Grand Duke. This logistical debacle is not going to solve itself," despite his words and efforts, he finds his attention returning to the sight before him. Watching avidly as Francis' fingers tighten in Athanase's hair, tugging as he does something with his tongue. His voice like that of a nightingale, high pitched and plaintive, arching up under his wicked hands. August knows how he feels. Has been at the mercy of Athanase before, splayed out on the bed like an offering laid onto the altar of a deity. Has been pinned under his attention and fallen prey to his exploration so many times that it's a wonder Athanase hasn't memorized every inch of him. He never seems to grow tired, though, and watching him pleasure Francis into a whining, trembling mess, August can understand why. There is something infinitely beautiful about observing the magician fall to pieces. His clever fingers so quick to pull out cards or candied fruits, tangling themselves into fine hair. His voice normally boisterous and teasing, all but gone as he wails Athanase's name. His fair skin the color of a setting sun, and August has never found him more beautiful than in that moment. Framed by curtains, one foot resting on the wall, the other wrapped around Athanase's waist, his head flung back as he keens his way into an orgasm. August feels his own heart thrum with love and knows that were he to look into a mirror, he would no doubt see the most smitten of expressions on his face.
Though a mirror sits on the far side of the room, long in length, for it hangs from the ceiling and descends all the way to the ground, he does not look over at it. Taking his attention away from Francis' needy face for even a second would be a crime. Drinks in the sight of his muffled gasps as Athanase continues to fuck into him, sharp thrusts of his hips that suggest he's close, and then he stills as abrupt as night falling in Altus. Neither moves for such a long time that August's lungs start to burn before he remembers to take a breath and sits back in his chair. His hand slowly unclenching from the pen. Ink has splattered itself all across his desk and stained the two sheets of paper he'd managed to get through, but he can't bring himself to care. His dick throbs in such a manner that any more attempts would prove to be fruitless.
"Athan," he breaths instead, not quite a prayer but something equally as embarrassing, a hand pressing into the front of his robes. "Darling."
Athanase lifts his head from where it had been nuzzling into Francis' neck, turning his face in his direction as he blinks slowly. His hair a tousled mess around his head, skin sun-kissed from months spent out on the open water, and his gaze as inquisitive as a cat's. Miscolored eyes seem to sparkle with their own inner magic when he tilts his head and settles more comfortably against Francis. The magician's arm immediately wrapping around his waist and stroking up his chest lazily. They will be the death of him, August is sure, with their terrible sense of humor and teasing natures. Swallows roughly and drags his hand through his hair, not missing how Francis' hand is lazily smearing cum all along Athanase's thighs. It's a possessive gesture, though the other might not consider it such. It makes the dark thing that lurks in his stomach rear its head and send him across the room before he realizes it.
Has him curling his fingers in Francis' hair and dragging him into a filthy kiss. Tongue more of a weapon than anything else as he melds their lips together and kisses him like he's drowning. His own lungs are burning by the time he eases away from that warm mouth, dragging his thumb across Francis' lower lip and watching as he blinks dazedly back at him. "Well fucked and red is a good look on you," He says mildly, but his voice falls short of the neutral tone he'd been aiming for, coming across more as horny if Athanase's quiet huff is anything to go by.
"Well fucked and red is a good look on anyone," the prince replies haughtily and leans up to meet him halfway when August reaches out. Let's himself be dragged into the kiss, melting against him in such a manner that August has no choice but to bear his weight. Not that August minds. He likes carrying Athanase, sheltering him in his arms, and protecting him from a world that wants him dead. Especially when he can stumble back and sink into a chair, his hands spanning the narrow back. Athanase whines against his lips, melting into his touch like a needy cat in search of attention, and August is more than willing to indulge him. Could spend hours touching him without ever growing tired or bored, not when he squeaks at every unexpected sensation, hiding his face when August teases his piercings and drags a finger along his crack.
"While I agree with the general sentiment," Francis pipes up. "I'm quite fond of the face you make when you're stuffed full of August's cock." There's a shuffling sound as he removes himself from the windowsill and limps over to the desk. Fishing a water bottle out from the basket below it.
"It is a good face," August agrees, lips twitching when Athanase hides and grumbles into his neck as if that can hide the way he blushes with his whole body. "However," August continues gently. "I haven't forgotten what I did to you yesterday. You're still quite sore, aren't you?" Squeezes his ass pointedly, relishing in the immediate whine the action causes, and Athanase squirms, sitting up just enough to glare at him.
"Yes, you erudite, I'm still sore," he snaps. "That's what happens when the horny residential vampire decides he needs to five rounds in one night."
"You enjoyed it," August replies dismissively, trying not to laugh in the face of cranky irritation that he's being given.
"I do recall him begging you for more," Francis adds helpfully. "I'm not quite sure the blame lies entirely with the residential vampire." He sips from his bottle, his own eyes filled with merriment as if he was attending one of those circuses he likes so much.
"Fuck you both," Athanase growls irritably and nips at August's hand, cheeks puffing out in a pout.
"Mind your language, my dear, is that any way for a prince to speak?" August replies, brushing a finger across his lips and then slipping it into his mouth. Brushing against the kitten sharp fangs hiding among his teeth. "If you're not careful, I'll have to find something to fill your mouth with."
Athanase blinks at him and lazily sucks on his finger, his eyes glittering with a dangerous light, and August feels his arousal return ten-fold. Pulls his finger out before Athanase can bite it and arches an eyebrow. "If you want me to suck your dick, you'll have to ask for more politely than that, darling," Athanase says lightly and drops to his knees.
And August is not one to beg, has never been one to voice the words that he would rather keep in his heart, but Athanase is on his knees before him, a hand resting on his manhood, fingers gently cupping his balls. Francis is by his side, his lips brushing against his ear, tongue licking the shell of it, and August shudders very nearly crumples under their combined attention. Looks down into gleaming eyes, the blue-green of them reminiscent of the open ocean, and he's lost. Has been lost for a very long time, if he's being honest.
Ever since a prince of shadows covered in the blood of his people had stumbled into his arms, his fingers loosely wrapped around the jewel of a destroyed civilization. August had had his heart stolen that night, but he cannot begrudge the thief no more than he can begrudge the magician that had come years later and inserted himself so neatly into their dynamic that it feels like he was always a part of him. They are his boys, the ray of light to his darkness, wickedly clever and viciously petty. August loves them beyond all measure and explanation. It's why when Athanase asks, he rests his hand gently on the curly hair and says the words that not even the whip of the church's executioner had managed to drag from his mouth. "Please. Athan, please. I cannot handle much more of this, have mercy on me."
Francis's laughter is a breath of warm air against his neck, ruffling the tiny hairs there. His voice unbearably fond. "Good boy," he says, and August's traitorous heart fills with pride even as his cheeks darken in a blush. Athanase says nothing, merely leans down, and takes August within his mouth, a slow descent that has August's knees turning to jelly and grasping the desk for support. He's suddenly glad that he's already sitting, for to endure this on his feet would be an impossible feat. Spreads his legs invitingly, fingers curling helplessly in soft locks, and Athanase hums. Shuffles a little closer, his eyes briefly flickering up as he swallows. His hand continues to tease his balls, gripping them just shy too painful – exactly how August likes it – before releasing them and thumbing the head of his cock instead. He's terribly good at it. Every action carefully executed to cause the maximum amount of pleasure, and August can do nothing to stop him, can only enjoy the ride and moan his way ever closer to the edge. Whines a protest when Athanase retreats slightly, allowing the thick cock to smear pre-cum and saliva against his cheek as he looks up through his eyelashes. There is a question in his eyes, one that has August gasping and nodding, fingers stroking across his cheek.
"Yes, oh heavens, yes please," he's only half sure what he's agreeing to, but Athanase seems to understand. Has always been able to interpret the things that August can only partially vocalize.
Sits back on his heels, his hand replacing his mouth, as he licks his lips. Exchanges a look with the figure to his left, and Francis' laughter returns just as bubbly as before. "Understood, little prince, leave that to me."
August feels fingers brush through his hair and then slip into his shirt, caressing his chest as Athanase descends once more on his dick. Fingers fondling his balls, weighing them in a hand with fingers whose every touch stimulates and teases. Gasps despite himself and then an embarrassingly loud whine resonates in the air as Francis' chilly fingers find his nipples and thumb them roughly. The sudden cold sensation combined with Athanase's mouth's burning heat leaves him jerking in the seat, an aborted thrust quickly quelled by the hand on his hip.
"Steady there, August," Francis murmurs. His hand still playing with his nipple, twisting and turning it, before withdrawing to rub elsewhere. "You don't want to choke the poor boy, do you?" The cold returns and August has no idea where he's producing it from, can't begin to form words when it takes all his strength to not whine. Feels fangs scrape against the sensitive skin of his cock and glances down to see Athanase bury his nose into the coarse russet hair of happy trail, making a sound that he can only define as sheer ecstasy. "Cute, isn't he?" Francis continues, his voice suspiciously innocent.
"Y-yes," August agrees, gripping the armrests in a bid to sit still and not fuck his way into Athanase's mouth. "Very cute – ah!" Claps a hand to his face, but it is too late. The loud cry is still echoing around the room as his face flushes in mortification, nipples throbbing from the piercings that Francis had just slipped into place. Glares at him weakly, but a steady vibration around his dick sends arousal coursing all the more through his veins, and he groans instead, pressing his face into Francis' chest.
"Asshole," he hisses weakly. The piercings are ice-cold. He wonders if they'd been stored in the freezer before his thoughts fade away under the double assault of temperatures. Whining softly into Francis' chest, as the stimulation continues, driving him ever closer to the edge, and then over –
His orgasm stops just as swiftly as it had begun, leaving him high on the crest and desperate, mouth open to curse the culprit out. Athanase looks unrepentantly innocent, sitting back on his heels and watching the both of them with a smirk. "Not yet," he says sweetly and pats August's thigh. Stands up a moment later as he stretches lazily, all sinuous muscles and asshole personality.
"Jackasses, the both of you," August snaps weakly, shuffling in place as he tries desperately not to take himself in hand and jack off. "I won't be forgetting this anytime soon." Stretches out a foot to kick plaintively at Athanase's leg, pouting at him in as much as he can pout. It's about as effective as one would expect it to be against the master of puppy dog eyes himself.
"Yes, I'm quite afraid that we are," Francis replies, his fingers carding through his hair, and August doesn't need to look up to know that he's smirking. August opens his mouth instead and bites down on a soft breast. Relishes in the way that Francis immediately stiffens and squeaks as warm blood gushes into his mouth, drinks greedily, his hand grabbing a fistful of his ass and hauling him closer, relishing in the whines that he can hear falling from his mouth. Licks the bite mark as he withdraws and then licks his lips as well, making no effort to clean up the blood that had spilled, looking over Francis' flushed face with pride.
Has only a moment bask in it, though, as sharp teeth bite his inner thigh and his gaze returns to Athanase moments before the other truly gets to work, his head bobbing as he works him into completion. Hardly allowing August enough air to gasp a warning before his world is rocking on its axis as he orgasms. His vision going white for several long seconds. When he drifts back to the material plane, Athanase is licking his lips and looking smug. Rests his head on August's thigh and peeks up through his eyelashes at him, the very picture of innocence.
August leans in and kisses him before he can stop himself, covering his face in soft, chaste kisses, until Athanase laughs and flees to Francis' side in an attempt to escape the onslaught of attention. Hiding behind the smaller man and sticking his tongue out. August exchanges a look with the magician and hardly needs to put his thoughts into words for the latter to spin about and pounce on their prince, pinning him to the bed with ease. August strides across the room and cheerfully joins in on the tickling that issues, his heart beating warmly with each laugh that he manages to coax out of Athanase. The paperwork can be dealt with tomorrow, he decides, for there are far more critical tasks at hand.