Jealousy

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Gulcasa, Roswell, or Nessiah (Sting does). I own the idea for this living situation, though.

(10pokes prompt #7 – behind the scenes; we're all quite mad here)

It would be today. Nessiah was sure of it. The tension had been building and building ever since Roswell had so recklessly asked both him and Gulcasa to bed, or perhaps since Nessiah had at last been able to bear being touched again after the incident in Detroit. That was probably when. Gulcasa had been able to tolerate Roswell's presence for as long as he thought that Roswell was necessary, and had begun getting uncomfortable after Nessiah was willing to go back to bed. Poor Gulcasa; he hadn't quite grasped that the wounds that night had inflicted ran far, far deeper than his and Roswell's gentle ministrations could heal so quickly.

And then Roswell had acted, and Gulcasa had been drawn in. It was true that Nessiah had been the one to drag him up to Roswell, but Gulcasa could have turned away if he wasn't interested. The sexual charge that had started between the three of them was too strong.

He was jealous. Of course he was jealous. Gulcasa believed, maybe naïvely, in the truth of soul mates, of destined pairs. Nessiah loved him, and Gulcasa had no reason to doubt that. He just struggled with the fact that Roswell still had a place in Nessiah's heart, still had a right to a different kind of Nessiah's love.

Besides. Between the sex and their living situation, it wasn't just Nessiah's bond to each of them that held them together now. Like an unforeseen side effect, their relationship had fostered certain… undercurrents.

Gulcasa tried to cope with it for Nessiah's sake, but he just kept getting edgier and edgier and more and more awkward and jealous. And Roswell…

Well, Roswell looked like he'd just about reached the end of his tether.

Despite all the time they'd lived together, there were a lot of things about Roswell that Gulcasa still didn't know. And contrary to the popular saying, what you didn't know could do a hell of a lot of damage.

It was a curious thing, Nessiah mused as he sipped his coffee, watching the two men he loved more than anyone in creation glare at each other across the table. He and Gulcasa were usually perceived as the irritable ones, Gulcasa especially. He was always flying off the handle and wrestling with his temper and punctuating arguments with colorful and creative language. Almost everyone Roswell knew would describe him as gentle and placid and sweet, without a mean bone in his body.

Roswell had a temper, a very vicious one. It just took a long, long time to provoke him. But when you did…

Nessiah sipped at his coffee again. They were almost out of it, and a few other things. Someone would need to head into town to restock the pantry.

Whatever was going to happen here wouldn't happen as long as he was in the house. Both Gulcasa and Roswell cared for him too much for that. But Nessiah was tired of this restless and uncomfortable status quo. All three of them were always irritated and frustrated and there was never any peace to be had. So whatever was going to happen, Nessiah was quite ready for his lovers to get on with it already.

There were, he knew, two possible outcomes. He could live with either. And he was fairly sure he knew which it was going to be.

--

"Well, I'm off," Nessiah said suddenly, standing.

"Off?" Gulcasa repeated blankly. "Off where?"

"One of us needs to do the shopping, and so far you two have been picking up most of the chores," Nessiah said pointedly. "I can handle a trip into town, Gulcasa; I'm a rape victim, not an agoraphobic. It's perfectly safe. It's broad daylight. I appreciate your desire to protect me, but I don't need a babysitter all the time, you know."

Gulcasa didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. All the things Nessiah had said were true, but this was still the first time he'd ever volunteered to leave the house by himself. Always before he'd never so much as left the street on his own.

"So, as long as you two can handle yourselves without me…" Nessiah retrieved the car keys from the counter and headed out the door. After a few moments, it opened again, and he poked his head inside to say, "Just leave the house standing."

And then he was off.

Gulcasa stared at the wall past Roswell's shoulder. He didn't know what to do or think now.

Several long and frosty minutes passed.

"Look at me," Roswell said, his voice soft and toneless.

Gulcasa didn't reply.

"Damn it, look at me." The words snapped out, a little like a slap. "Or do you hate me so much that you can't even do that anymore?"

Temper flared up—God, he didn't even know why it was so irritating—and Gulcasa met Roswell's stare furiously. "I never once said I hated you. Stop jumping to goddamn conclusions."

"Why do you have to be like this?" Roswell was on his feet, his sky-colored eyes burning with fury. "Why do you always have to be so damn difficult? Isn't it enough for you that everything's falling apart, that for the past few days all three of us have been sleeping in separate beds again? It's a wonder that Nessiah hasn't started backsliding yet! Must you be so selfish that—"

"Selfish?" Gulcasa repeated. "Selfish? Whose house have you been living in? Whose life have you been intruding upon? If anyone here is selfish, it most certainly is not me!"

Both of them were on their feet now, voices raised, fists bunched.

"I'm not the one who's killing the three of us," Roswell said, his voice deathly quiet.

"I'm not the one who insisted there be a 'the three of us'," Gulcasa retorted. "I'm not the one who had to push things to a point none of us were ready for—"

"If you hate me so much for it—" Roswell strode around the table. "If you hate me so much for it, then why don't you just tell me so straight to my face? Why don't you just tell me to leave and get it over with?"

"It's not up to me—it's not up to either of us! My needs, your needs—they're not what really matter, and if you keep insisting that they do—"

"Then for God's sake, just look at me!" Roswell demanded. "Don't live your life avoiding me as if I'm something repulsive! Just look at me!"

He stood there, more furious than Gulcasa had ever seen him, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing. They stared at each other for five seconds, then ten. And then, before Gulcasa knew how it had happened, he'd closed the distance between them and their bodies were pressed together furiously, hands in each other's hair, Roswell's legs cinched tightly around Gulcasa's waist, lips crushed and working with a sharp violence that was shockingly erotic.

It was like drowning, like falling, completely out of control. Gulcasa couldn't stop, didn't even want to stop, and the way Roswell was moaning, it seemed he couldn't either. They hit something—the wall, Gulcasa registered dimly—and he was hard and his hips were already working against Roswell's, making both of them shiver and pant for breath between kisses.

Roswell's hands were fumbling at his shirt, and he came up for air long enough for Roswell to pull it off of him, long enough to rip Roswell's off with such force that he heard its seams protesting. He boosted Roswell up against the wall, lowered his head to trace his lips from the side of Roswell's throat to his chest, feeling him quivering harder and harder until his slim body seemed to be vibrating.

Roswell's hands were at the fly of his jeans, and Gulcasa undid Roswell's, which caused a brief moment of frustration as they struggled out of the last of their clothes. Roswell just stood and panted as Gulcasa ran his hands over that smooth body, until he couldn't seem to take it anymore and gripped Gulcasa's wrists to stop him.

"Here… now…" he managed to get out. "God, please…"

Going upstairs would take too much time, anyway. Gulcasa cast around, his gaze falling on a new plastic bottle of lubricant that they'd bought a while ago but hadn't bothered to put away yet. He reached for it, but Roswell's hands were there first, wrestling with the cap and then tracing the clear blue gel in spirals up the length of Gulcasa's erection. It was cold, but warmed as it touched his skin, a sensation he almost couldn't bear. Swearing, he got the bottle away from Roswell and spread the slightest bit across his fingertips, then hoisted Roswell up again and slid those fingertips inside him to prepare him.

Roswell cried out and gripped his shoulders, splayed against the wall with his eyes closed and his face flushed. Gulcasa worked carefully, but quickly, then plunged in.

His breath was rushing hard, and so was Roswell's; aside from that the only sound was the slap of Roswell's hips against the wall as he thrust hard and deep. He couldn't think; all he could do was feel, and the pleasure was far too overpowering for thought anyway. Roswell was hot and tight and the deeper he thrust the better it felt; Roswell was starting to give little breathy sobs as he went deeper and it was tighter and hotter until suddenly Roswell's body was clutching around him and Roswell came hard against him with a moan and God it was good, it was so good, and he couldn't stand it anymore and he let go and while he spilled deep into Roswell's body he slammed them into the wall hard and fast and hard and fast until he couldn't anymore and they slid to the ground in a sitting sprawl, still tangled up in each other.

Gulcasa could barely breathe. It was still impossible to think. He just closed his eyes and panted hard for breath, his arms and shoulders shaking a little. He could feel the muscles in Roswell's belly quivering, released from how tightly they'd clutched in orgasm.

As they sat there, both fighting for air, Roswell leaned closer and began to rock his hips slowly. The hot white beads of semen at the base of his ribs were starting to trickle down the contours of the muscles in his belly. God, he'd never know why it felt so good. Roswell's movements roughened, and Gulcasa could feel himself getting hard again.

Fine. He was nowhere near done.

When he could feel Roswell tight around him, when the need to take grew too painful to bear, Gulcasa spun the two of them around and laid Roswell out flat against the carpet. Before Roswell could do much more than blink in confusion, Gulcasa had his arms up behind him, cuffing both wrists in one hand, and reached down to close his other around Roswell's erection, working his arm until it hurt and Roswell was fully engorged.

"What are—nn—"

Gulcasa didn't answer. He separated Roswell's wrists, covering one with each hand, and thrust into him violently, rapidly, leaning down to cover Roswell's mouth with his own to muffle his shocked cry of pleasure. Thought, consideration, and control were barely more than distant memories. All he was aware of was need; all he could feel was desire, and pleasure. Finally, finally, he could take what it was Roswell had so thoughtlessly promised him months ago.

He was as helpless to it as Roswell was, of course. The only thing they could do now was feel. Roswell's hips slammed up to meet his own frantically; his thighs were a vise. He was still slick, still wet from the first peak they'd hit, and Gulcasa drove deeper and deeper into his body until Roswell was sobbing hoarsely with every thrust. He was rocking wildly with pleasure, nearly convulsing, until he tore his hands free and set his nails to Gulcasa's back and wrapped his whole body tightly around him and thrust stiffly and rapidly into Gulcasa's belly until it almost hurt. Then he was screaming something Gulcasa couldn't understand as he came, writhing harder and faster until he had nothing left and slumped down against the carpet weakly.

While he trembled from the aftershocks, Gulcasa pressed him harder and harder into the floor, panting hard but barely drawing any air as the world's edges hazed and he thrust fast and deep and desperate until he broke, orgasm as much pain as pleasure as he drove into Roswell until he was spent and his last throes subsided.

They lay there, both gasping, until Gulcasa mustered the strength to push himself up, to bring their bodies apart and collapse into a sitting position against the leg of the kitchen table.

Roswell just kept lying still, his eyes half-open and his body flushed and shiny with sweat. Both of them were covered in it, sticky with it and come and quaking with exhaustion. Gulcasa realized faintly that he felt every bit as bruised and used as Roswell looked. And it scared him a little, how good that felt.

"What the hell are we doing?" he asked in a small and bewildered voice.

Roswell made a low, noncommittal sound. Other than that, he didn't stir.

"I mean, what the hell are we doing?" Gulcasa managed a weak shake of his head, blinking. "In the middle of the kitchen with the windows open…"

"I think we were arguing," Roswell said dreamily.

"No kidding…" He and Nessiah had made some very wild and crazy love in the past, but this felt like some kind of epic battle had taken place. "Who won?"

"I don't know." Roswell closed his eyes and sighed, his chest and belly still fluttering rapidly up and down.

Gulcasa took a moment to breathe. He was pretty sure they'd just balled up all their frustration with each other into sexual frustration, and… and attacked each other with it, which was why it had come down to this, this blatant sexual insanity. Fuck. He hoped their mingled sweat and semen wasn't going to stain the carpet. Nessiah would absolutely kill them if it did.

Nessiah…

Thinking of his lover just made Gulcasa feel guilty and confused until it occurred to him that the way Nessiah had just up and left the house so suddenly might have meant he'd been planning for this to happen.

"Damn," he managed.

"Gulcasa," Roswell said plaintively.

"What?"

"…We need to get cleaned up." A pause. "I don't think I can move."

With a groan, Gulcasa managed to lever himself up, and somehow he got Roswell into a reasonable standing position, too. Ignoring the scattered mess of their clothes, they staggered like shellshocked soldiers to the stairs and up them into the bathroom.

Roswell just sat exhaustedly in the bowl of the tub, leaving Gulcasa to hold the extendable showerhead and sluice the evidence of sex off both their bodies. It was several minutes after he'd put it back and they sat beneath its spray before he spoke.

"That was the first time we ever…" he said, resting his cheek on Gulcasa's shoulder.

It was, Gulcasa suddenly realized. Of course they'd been in bed together before, but that had always been with Nessiah between them. They hadn't really touched each other directly, and never actually fit their bodies together before.

"It was driving me mad that you wouldn't look at me, wouldn't touch me," Roswell went on distantly. "I knew it would help us if we did, but you never… until now…"

"Should've tried pissing me off before, then," Gulcasa quipped, making him laugh.

"Even so… I feel better," Roswell told him.

They were silent for a while. Gulcasa realized that he felt a lot better, too. Some of that was just the pure relief of sexual release, but even though he could barely string his thoughts together, he felt like his head was really clear for the first time in weeks.

"I don't think I love you," he said, looking down at Roswell beneath the water's spray, "but I know I like you a lot. You mean something to me. I don't know what it is. I know he cares about you, maybe loves you a little." He paused. "Your body's damn beautiful, and I know I like that. I'm sorry, I guess. A first time should be… gentler."

"It's alright," Roswell murmured. "It meant more this way, I think."

Gulcasa nodded. "Alright… if that's the way you feel. …I don't want to fight anymore." Both of them were silent for a while.

At last, he looked down at Roswell again. "…Is that okay?"

Roswell smiled, and slipped his hand into Gulcasa's, squeezing it weakly. "Okay," he whispered.

--

By the time Nessiah came back, Roswell and Gulcasa were curled up on opposite ends of the sofa. Roswell was asleep and apparently naked beneath the blanket, and Gulcasa was only wearing his jeans, his eyes half-open.

Watching them there, Nessiah felt his heart fill, and crossed the room in quiet steps, leaning to put his arms around Gulcasa.

"You're evil," Gulcasa told him sleepily.

Nessiah just laughed. All the tension was gone from the air of the house, returning it to the sanctuary that Gulcasa and Roswell had made it for him when he'd first come here.

"It was going to happen sooner or later," he said softly. "Better now, so that we won't hurt each other anymore. So will you forgive me?"

Gulcasa closed his eyes. "…I guess I'll have to, won't I? Know-it-all…"

Relaxing into the curve of his beloved's body, Nessiah rested his cheek on Gulcasa's shoulder with a sigh and a smile. "I'm glad."