Bookended (2 page)

Julian chews on his lip, standing awkwardly in the center of the living room, still with a water bottle in each hand.

“No,” Ogden says. “With a guy. I’ve never....”

“Bi-curious?” Fletcher quips back, and now he feels it, the lazy power of the experienced party. “And you figured you’d pick up two guys at once? Ambitious. I like that.”

Julian gives him a look.

“It’s all right, though. As you can see, Julian here is incredibly considerate.” Fletcher holds up the water bottle in illustration and gives it a little slosh. “I can’t say the same for me, not without lying through my teeth, but Julian, Julian is more than accommodating enough to make up for it.”

With that, he looks to Julian and nods.

Julian sets down the water bottles on an end table, and then removes his cufflinks meticulously and hands them to Fletcher, who pockets them. There’s a note of tenseness in Julian’s posture if you know what to look for, and Fletcher does, but he soldiers on, wetting his lips with his tongue as he steps in front of Ogden, knees-to-knees.

Ogden tilts his head up, fearful and adoring, and Fletcher is all at once reminded of Julian when they first met, young and curious and unsure. He slides down to the other end of the couch to get a better vantage point and surreptitiously adjusts himself, setting the water bottle aside. His blood is pounding in his ears, and all they’re doing is fucking looking at each other.

“Do it,” Fletcher directs, but it comes out low like a growl, and Julian’s head snaps to look at him, eyes angry and questioning, but then knowing. He sets his jaw and lowers himself to his knees, sacrificing neither dignity nor poise in the action.

Ogden hisses when Julian runs his hands up over his thighs, parting them slightly, and his thumbs brush, mirroring each other, along the fold where crotch and leg meet. Julian leans forward, mouthing the denim over Ogden’s bulge, running nose and cheek up over his fly. It’s delectably submissive, practically worshipping, everything Fletcher loves Julian to do to
him
.

“Tell him what you want,” Fletcher says, fighting to keep his voice dispassionate. “He likes to think he’s psychic but he’s not.”

Ogden looks to Fletcher at that, face flushed, mouth open, wide-eyed. Pleading.

“Manners!” Fletcher bites out. “Is that any way to treat the man who’s going to be sucking you off? If I want you to look at me, I’ll
tell
you.”

Ogden gasps, shakes his head, and forces himself to look down at Julian, who is smiling and looking incorrigibly smug as he works his two fingers up into the buckle of Ogden’s belt and pulls it free. Ogden’s mouth opens and closes again like he can’t even process what’s happening. Julian’s hand firmly cupping him, sizing him up, elicits a helpless whimper.

Fletcher mimics the motion, palming his erection through his slacks as it stirs and pulses with heat.

“Do you like this?” Julian asks up to Ogden, teasing.

“Yes,” Ogden moans in relief, reaching out cautiously to touch the hair behind Julian’s ear. It draws a pleased little smile from Julian, and the whole tableau is remarkably intimate, just for a second, like Fletcher isn’t even there, is viewing them from the other side of a two-way mirror. Julian’s fingers are working at the button of Ogden’s fly, tugging slowly at the fob of his zipper.

“Tell him what you want him to do,” Fletcher orders, a mean edge in his voice. He’s worked his own fly open now and can feel his cock straining against his briefs. He toys his fingertips over the taut cotton, finding it damp at that point over the head. The light touch makes him want to close his eyes, give himself over, but he holds back.

“I want...” Ogden starts, clearly struggling not to look at Fletcher. “I want him to suck me.”

“Don’t tell
me
,” Fletcher says. “Tell
him
. Tell him by
name
.”

Ogden turns his eyes down to Julian kneeling at his feet, waiting. “Suck me off, Julian,” he breathes, and then bucks when Julian lazily pumps his cock in one fist, testing him. Fletcher loves it, the sound of another man saying “Julian” like that, through his teeth.

“Say please,” Julian purrs, and very deliberately opens his mouth to reveal his tongue, pink and curling, to dab at his lower lip.

“Please suck my cock,” Ogden replies. “Please. Please, Julian!”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He leans forward, dragging a slow tongue up the underside of Ogden’s flushed cock and smiling when Ogden’s hands fly to his shoulders, grabbing desperate fistfuls of his shirt.

Fletcher wants to tell him... but no, not yet. Julian pulls his fist up and down over the shaft of Ogden’s cock, taking the head into his mouth, the noise defiantly wet. Julian’s cheeks hollow and Fletcher sucks in a breath, feeling his body tense in sympathy at the sight of Ogden’s head and shoulders dropping back against the couch cushions.

Ogden’s fingers are digging into Julian’s shirt, loosening and grabbing again. “Like that,” he whimpers, and touches tentatively at the back of Julian’s neck. Julian bristles a little at first, shoulders rising, but accepts the challenge, swallowing down Ogden’s cock with a practiced bob of his head, the same move he’s used on Fletcher a thousand times. “Oh, yes,” Ogden groans, because it’s new to
him
, and lifts his hips, thrusting into Julian’s mouth. Julian’s hands fly to Ogden’s knees, steadying himself, but he’s no longer in control, no longer teasing or playing. He’s been swept up, and now he’s getting his mouth fucked, running his hands up and down over Ogden’s thighs.

“How does that feel?” Fletcher grits, fisting his own cock in more fevered strokes. He drops the pretense of this being for Julian’s benefit. Now he just wants to hear Ogden talking, talking dirty, narrating how it feels to have his cock in Julian’s throat, gagging for it.

Ogden’s answer is broken by gasps and groans: “G-good. Good. S’good. His tongue....” His flat stomach is convulsing, his thin T-shirt bunching with the movement. “I want him deeper.”

“I can help with that,” Fletcher offers, standing, and walks toward them, shedding clothes as he goes. Pants and underwear in a pile, then his socks a step apart. He follows Ogden’s wide-eyed gaze down to his cock jutting out from underneath his hanging shirt and smiles.

“Let me see.” He
tsks
when he’s beside them, touching the top of Julian’s head as if to greet him. Julian’s hand snakes back, clasping the back of Fletcher’s thigh. Granting permission.

Fletcher grasps a fistful of Julian’s hair, sticky with the day’s product, and shoves his head down onto Ogden’s cock. Ogden dissolves into thrashing moans, thrusting without rhythm, and Fletcher crouches, his hand still holding Julian in place, trying for a better view. Julian’s jaw is wrenched open, lips red and wet with saliva. His eyes are teary, but he isn’t panicking. Fletcher reaches around with his free hand, under Julian’s chin, and cups his cheek tenderly.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he praises. “I want you to know how gorgeous I think you look right now.”

With that, he lets Julian go and watches him pull back, panting and gagging, a string of saliva stretching between his mouth and the tip of Ogden’s cock. Ogden lets out a high, needy moan, inspiring a smirk from Fletcher.

“Patience is a virtue,” he lectures, gathering up Julian in one arm and pressing a series of thankful, affectionate kisses to his eye, his cheek, the side of his mouth.

On second thought, he leans in to kiss him again, properly, slow and deep, exploring the different-but-familiar taste of Ogden’s cock on his tongue. He watches the expression on Ogden’s face through one eye as he does, swelled up with the excitement of performance, and lets the heel of his palm drag up over Ogden’s quivering thigh.

Breaking off the kiss with Julian, he takes him by the chin and turns his head to face Ogden again: Ogden who is writhing on the couch, red and confused and frustrated, his cock glistening between his legs. “Look what you did,” Fletcher chides, though now there’s a lightness to his tone again. He settles back to sit on his heels. “You’re
awful
.”

Julian smiles breathlessly. “Devious,” he adds. “Cruel. Some might call me an evil genius.”

“They’d be right to,” Fletcher agrees. “Now strip. You may want to help poor Ogden there too. I’m not sure how well his motor skills are working just now.”

Ogden, not needing to be told twice, is already peeling away his flimsy V-necked tee, revealing the compact muscles of his abs and the typewriter tattoo etched under his bellybutton. He’s got his arms crossed over his head and a face full of fabric when he says, “You’re not going to ask me to touch my finger to my nose or rub my tummy and pat my head, are you?”

It’s the first time he’s joined in on Fletcher and Julian’s snark, and he does it so easily, like they’ve been friends for ages, that Fletcher and Julian are helpless at the odd charm of it. Apparently, that’s what cocksucking does for a group dynamic, Fletcher realizes, making a mental note.
Blowjobs: also a great icebreaker
.

He looks to Julian, who has efficiently shed everything but his boxers already. Watching Fletcher and conscious of being watched, his expression unreadable, he drops those too, revealing what must be an absolutely aching cock, swollen and red-tinged. Fletcher fights back the urge to take Julian into his mouth right then and suck him until he cries. He forces himself to look Julian in the eye instead.

“His shoes, Julian,” he orders, losing the easy-going smile, and Julian drops to his knees again, eager to the point of shamelessness. He makes slow, deliberate work of Ogden’s laces and slides his sneakers and socks off his feet, stroking his hands over the newly bared skin. For a minute, Fletcher begins to regret that he didn’t think to have the pair of them undress
him
that way.

All of them seem to be holding their breaths, waiting for something, and after a moment, obedient Ogden lifts his hips, allowing Julian to strip his trousers and boxers away in a slow, curious gesture. For some reason
this
act inspires matching blushes in the both of them. It’s actually kinda sweet.

They turn twin gazes on Fletcher, expectant.

Oh,
yeah
. He could get used to this.

He flops back onto the couch, legs sprawled, and grins. The almost painful throb of his neglected cock gives him an idea. “Julian!” he calls out, cheerfully sadistic, and Julian’s answering look is wary. “Come here.”

When Julian climbs up off his knees and walks to Fletcher’s side, Fletcher grabs him roughly around the cock, manhandling it. “See this?” he asks Ogden casually. Julian’s eyes are shut, his jaw set, probably reciting the times table. He’s hot,
thick
, heavy in Fletcher’s hand. It takes real effort on Fletcher’s part to maintain the illusion of casual disaffection. “We’ve got him just this side of begging for it. Wanna have some fun?” Ogden looks between Fletcher and Julian, looks for a long time at Fletcher’s hand gripping Julian’s cock, and swallows what must be an incredibly dry throat before he nods.

“Good boy,” Fletcher says, and then turns into the boss again. “Julian, over my lap.”

Julian does as he’s told: head-down-ass-up with his elbows on one side of Fletcher’s lap and his knees on the other. Fletcher runs a hand up the back of his thigh, knee-to-ass, presenting him to Ogden like he’s the prize on a game show.

God,
he wants to fuck him. Wants to fuck Ogden too. Or have both of them on their knees giving him head.

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Fletcher says, dragging his fingers up the cleft of Julian’s ass and hearing Julian hiss. Touching him this intimately, Fletcher can feel the tension trembling all through his muscles. “I’m feeling pretty generous today, so I’ve decided to let you fuck him.”

He looks down to Julian, who has his cheek pressed to the sofa, and is satisfied with the sharp, urgent little nod he receives.

Ogden sits up straighter now, hands on his knees in an attentive schoolboy’s pose, eyes huge and dark with anticipation.

“You want that?” Fletcher asks him, grabbing a fistful of Julian’s ass and smiling at the helpless little moan Julian lets out in response. Ogden gulps and nods. “One catch. You do everything—
everything
—I tell you to. Starting with condoms. Should be some in the end table there. Lube too.”

From his spot muffled into the cushions, Julian says, “No comments from the peanut gallery. If
you
were fucking him, you’d keep lube in unexpected places too.”

Fletcher swats him across the ass, hard enough to set his fingers stinging, and turns his face to enjoy the view of Ogden bending over the couch’s armrest to root around in the end table’s drawer. “Quiet, now,” he says, and Julian’s posture goes relaxed underneath his hands—pliable.

To make his point, he reaches down to Julian’s face, touching the softness of his lower lip with his first three fingers until Julian’s mouth opens and draws his fingers in, narrowing Fletcher’s entire perception to the feeling of wet heat and flickering tongue and enthusiastic suction. His cock jumps at the sensation, and once again, Fletcher fights off the strong urge to cut right to the chase, enough with the play and the teasing, let Julian bathe his cock with that dutiful tongue of his.

“The thing is,” he narrates, tugging his fingers from Julian’s mouth with a thoroughly satisfying, wet pop, “He loves to play dignified, like he’s above all this—
uppity
little brat—but he’s not.” Ogden, hands full of condom and lube packets, breathes through his mouth and watches absolutely enthralled as Fletcher runs his spit-wet fingers across Julian’s hole. When Fletcher circles,
presses
with his middle finger, breaching Julian slowly, both Julian and Ogden moan in time.

Julian’s almost uncomfortably tight—spit is no real substitute for lube—but it’s enough for now, enough for Fletcher to work that first finger down to the second knuckle and withdraw it again in a rough stroke. “
Fuck
,” Ogden breathes; or was that Julian?

“See? He’s a slut for it,” Fletcher explains. “Now come here and make him beg.”