It's not like their sex life is boring. Hardly! If Joyce had any inkling that she would one day wear a strap-on and be the one occasionally shagging her husband, she might have held off on getting married at all!
Or she might have gotten married sooner.
She still doesn't know.
She likes the idea of being in control over her normally austere, somewhat shut-off husband, but what she really likes is the idea of seeing him dominated, seeing him out of control, and it doesn't necessarily have to be her who is the one dominating him.
In fact, she's recently come to the conclusion that she would very much like to watch someone else tear Tom down, force him to spread his legs, and take it. She's had dreams about that, in fact.
They've even talked about it, on occasion. Tom is very matter of fact about it, of course. They would only be able to include a third person in their relationship if they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would never get out.
The level of trust that they would have to have in someone is staggering, and that's not even considering whether the person would even be interested. She imagines that getting one's self involved with a married couple-a longtime married couple-would be potentially daunting, maybe even off putting. She wonders what she or Tom would have done in their youth, had someone invited them into something so . . . risqué.
It stays as only a scenario through Troy, and of course, Scott. Troy is too young, too inexperienced to even consider, especially considering his knee jerk response to anything dealing with two men together (something that Tom had lamented to her about on more than one occasion). Scott had been too horny, too likely to jump in feet first, and then move on just as quickly. Oh, he might have consented to the idea, and maybe even kept his mouth shut about later-though she still has her doubts-but he was a risk, one that neither she nor Tom would have wanted to waste energy worrying about. Besides, who wanted to bed someone who had been with half of the surrounding villages?
But then Ben had come along, and really that was the first indication that something was different. Jones he might have been to everyone else, out loud anyway, but in her head he was consistently Ben.
Ben, who dared to poke at her husband the way someone might attempt to lightly poke at a bear. Ben, the man who had experience, who wasn't a spring chicken. Ben, who seemed oblivious to the charms of Stephens. Ben, the man who was Tom's preference over the rest of the long string of young, slightly underperforming sergeants . . .
She doesn't think that Ben will underperform at all, especially not where it really matters to her.
She shocks him, she thinks, when she asks Ben to come to the house separately from Tom. She's sent her husband out on a grocery trip, one only slightly contrived (she really is out of milk). He had smiled at her on the way out the door, and told her not to be surprised if her hypothesis was wrong.
She'd slapped him on the arse and told him to mind his own business. He'd only grinned back, and walked out the door with a cheery whistle.
She tells Ben to sit shortly after he arrives, and she offers him tea, which he accepts. It isn't until he's done doctoring his tea, and has taken an appreciative sip, that she asks him her question.
"Ben, I can call you Ben, can't I?" She smiles.
"Of course, Mrs Barnaby," Is his all too polite answer.
"I really think you should call me Joyce, at least until you make up your mind," She answers.
"That wasn't too ominous," He says, raising an eyebrow and putting his tea down.
"Don't worry, Ben. I just want to present to you an idea."
"Uh huh.
"Tom and I have discussed this, and I'm telling you this with his full consent to the idea."
"What idea would that be, Mrs B-uh, Joyce?"
"I want you to fuck him, and I want to watch."
. . .
Tom arrives home not an hour later. Ben is still there-at least, his car still is, and Joyce greets him at the door with a smile and kiss.
"Oh?" He replies, groceries forgotten in his hands, his fingers abruptly numb. "What did he say?"
"It took some explanation," She smiles, taking the bags from him before they drop to the floor. "And I had to show him my harness."
"You did?" Tom is aware that his voice has gone up nearly an octave in surprise.
"He asked several times if you really were on board with it," She says, bustling around the kitchen as she puts away the few things he had bought.
"She insisted that you were," Ben interjects, suddenly strolling into the room, a slightly cocky grin on his face.
"Because I am," Tom answers, voice just above a whisper.
"I guess I find it a little hard to believe," Ben says, eyeing him intently.
Tom swallows hard and spreads his hands.
"Joyce came up with the idea, and like you, I was surprised at first, but . . ." He trails off and looks over at Joyce.
She smiles back at him.
"Look, if you're uncomfortable with it, then no harm, no foul," He says, clasping his hands together.
"I didn't say that," Ben says, pushing forward into his personal space.
He swallows again, feeling heat dripping downward into his stomach and then lower.
"I think I'd like you to go into your bedroom and wait there, facing the wall, hands outstretched," Ben whispers against the side of his face, hot breath making his ear tingle.
. . .
When Ben finally makes his way into the Barnaby's bedroom, it is to find Joyce propped in a corner chair with a glass of wine, and Tom standing just as instructed.
Barnaby-Tom-glances briefly at him as he enters the room, before directing his eyes back to the wall in front of him.
Ben trails his fingers across Tom's back just because he can, marvelling at the muscle under his fingertips, and enjoying the barely visible shiver his touch elicits.
It is . . . amazing to touch Tom like this. It is a closely guarded dream come true, if he wants to be honest with himself (which he isn't very often). Until now, he has coveted each close moment together, usually pressed together during dangerous moments, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh; his heart beating near out of his chest. He's typically limited to the feel of Tom's fingers on his shoulder, or grabbing his arm to pull him out of the way of danger.
Never had he thought he might get the entire man to himself, with or without Joyce.
"Have you ever been detained before, sir?" He asks, pressing his chest to Tom's back more closely.
"Haven't had the pleasure, I'm afraid," Tom says brightly, spreading his legs ever so slightly.
"I'm going to pat you down-" Ben starts.
"Why, exactly?" Tom's voice is lighter than normal.
"To see if you are hiding any weapons of course, sir."
"I'm not," Tom quips.
"Of course not," Ben growls, pushing his hips forward once. "Everyone says that."
Tom's breath is deep and pushes his back briefly into Ben's chest.
"I'll need you to remove your jacket, sir, before we start."
"Of course, of course."
He steps backward, missing the warmth almost immediately, and watches as Tom shrugs out of his jacket. He has the inexplicable urge to lick the back of his neck, but he denies himself for the time being.
He directs him to hang it on the back of a nearby chair, and then watches as Tom puts his hands back on the wall.
"Do you have any weapons present on your person?" He asks, curious as to what Tom might say.
"Only the one," Tom answers with a huff of a laugh.
"Sir?" His voice is sharp, authoritative.
"It's in my pants," Tom says, actually barking a laugh.
"We at this centre are not amused by jokers," Ben deadpans, grinning in spite of himself. "For that, you've earned yourself an anal cavity search."
This time, the shiver is quite visible.
"Only if you promise to be thorough," Tom says, voice dropping back to a whisper.
"I'm always thorough."
"I know."
Silence reigns as he processes that statement. It's his turn to swallow as he steps forward and starts patting down Tom's arms.
His fingers run down his biceps, feeling the strongly corded muscles that make up his forearms, fingertips brushing gently over the backs of Tom's outstretched hands. He gives into the urge to bring his mouth to the back of Tom's neck, licking across the skin and then hooking his teeth gently into the lobe of his left ear.
"Is this standard procedure?" Tom's voice is strained.
"Only for difficult inmates," Ben grits out.
"Am I difficult?"
"Always. Constantly."
"You'd be bored without me."
The roleplay is somewhat lost as he considers Tom's words, sucking lightly on his ear as he does.
"Probably so," He admits, letting Tom's now reddened ear go.
Patience gone, he pulls free of the intoxicating feel of Tom's body under his hands.
"I want your clothes off," He says, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "And turn around. I want to see you," He adds as something of an afterthought.
Tom turns slowly, hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. His face is red, blush extending down his chest; something that Ben sees as each maddening button is undone. He drops his shirt to the ground, uncaringly, and then undoes the button at the top of his jeans. Slowly, he slithers out of them and his shoes, carefully stepping out of the puddle at his feet, and kicking it to the side. Left only in a pair of white boxer briefs and black socks, Tom slowly slides two thumbs into the waistband of his pants, when suddenly Ben has a thought.
"Stop," He croaks, pushing forward, mentally damning his own clothes as he fights to be as close as possible to the man opposite him.
He pushes Tom into the wall and attaches his mouth to his neck, chewing lightly on his stubble, and running his hands over as much skin as he can touch. In turn, Tom methodically removes his jacket and then his tie, throwing them in the direction of the chair he had laid his own shirt upon some minutes before. Chest to chest, Ben is surprised by the amount of heat rising up between them.
"I've wanted to touch you since I met you," He admits, unbuckling his belt and kicking his shoes off without much care.
He slides himself out of his trousers and pants all at once, and drives his hard cock into Tom's groin.
Tom brings his hands up to gently cup his face, pulling him in to kiss him lightly.
"Seems a bit unfair that I'm still somewhat dressed," Tom laments in-between kisses.
His only response is to slide down to his knees in front of Tom, and mouth at the bulge in front of him. He slides his hands down strong thighs, and hears Tom's head thunk back against the wall.
"This is mine," He tells him.
"Yours," Tom agrees shakily.
He pulls down his pants slowly, making Tom's cock bounce gently as it is revealed to the room.
"You don't touch it unless I'm here or you're bathing yourself, understand?"
A shuddering exhale is breathed above him.
"Agreed."
He noses along the underside of the shaft, and mouths at its tip.
"Tom has always been undone by gentleness," Joyce's voice breaks into the silence.
Another shuddery exhale as he licks up and down Tom's bobbing cock.
"Yours," Tom whispers, clutching fingers in his hair as he takes him deeper.
He gags himself on Tom's cock, making him gasp and swear in a steady stream above him. Grasping his balls makes Tom go rigid, clutching tightly at his hair as he starts to rhythmically fuck his mouth on his cock.
Every time his cock meets the back of his throat, Tom swears, and behind him he can hear the sound of Joyce panting. His own body is forgotten, though he can feel himself humping against the man's strong calf.
"Damn, damn, damn!"
Abruptly, Tom is coming, and he is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of emotion that crosses his face at the moment. He barely feels himself orgasming as well, though they find the evidence later across Tom's leg and the wall. His attention is fixed on the man before him, the tightly controlled man letting go finally at the warm wet pressure coming from his mouth.
He swallows, despite never having the stomach for it in the past. He keeps sucking until Tom pulls him off with a hiss. Then he gets pulled up, up and Tom's mouth is on his again, hand cradling the back of his head as their damp cocks rub patterns into one another.
"You dear dear boy," Tom whispers emphatically to him between kisses. "You could have had me at any minute. Any minute. Any time you wanted. Want. My dear, dear boy."
"That was lovely," Joyce whispers from behind him, wrapping her still clothed arms around them both. "Will you stay?"
He looks to Tom for his answer, finding it in his eyes.
"As long as you'll have me."
Tom smiles at him, and he grins back.