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Mordechai talks like he walks like he fucks. Slow, unhurried, with the knowledge that time is money and he has plenty of it. Jonah bloody detests having to hear him through a business plan, how he pauses to let a point sink in or how the words slip through his teeth like thick honey. He hates following him anywhere, as it feels like as much as they walk, they never progress. Jonah walks fast and intentionally, towards a goal, a point. He's got plans, his life is a straight line and he'll rush through it. Not Mordechai.
Despite this, Jonah can't, not with any level of confidence, say he hates getting fucked by Mordechai. He might claim to it, when all is over and he is clean and composed, he'll complain - of course he will - but he won't mean it.
This slowness, taking of his time, was not something he acquired with his age, but that always been there. Jonah had known Mordechai early on in his social life, and even then, the man was insufferable with it.
Mordechai was particularly indulgent that night. They'd shortly discussed an exchange earlier, not so long as to be exhausting, but meaningful enough that they could both afford to take some time off. And Mordechai was taking his time.
Jonah laid on his knees, arms stretched to a point up and over his shoulders, tied to the bed post with a crimson silk. He ached from the position, and from the relentless roll of Mordechai's hips to his back. Jonah had tried so very hard to be satisfied with what he was given, which in itself was nothing small. Not at all, Mordechai filled him, thoroughly, occupied spaces inside of him Jonah had not known he had until the Lord settled, pushed them aside to make space for himself. It hurt beautifully, but it was not nearly enough for Jonah to reach his peak.
Mordechai shifted the weight of his hips, pressing even further down into Jonah. His hand was on Jonah's stomach, massaging it, feeling how Jonah quivered beneath him. Because he did, his legs shivered, his stomach contracted with effort. Jonah was sweating large beads, gripping onto the sheets of the bed for dear life as Mordechai insisted upon continuing.
Jonah readjusted, rubbing his aching cock on his knee for some desperate friction, but Mordechai was on him. He straightens his pose, did not say anything besides "Stay" once he'd repositioned him to his desire. Jonah whined, low in his throat. He'd done everything but cry and refused to let it happen.
Jonah could not say how long he'd been kept like that, only that his cock fell heavy between his legs, strained and swollen from being ignored so long. Inevitably, he knew it would have to end, whether he'd be satisfied with the result was an entirely different question, but it'd been so long Jonah would be happy just by virtue of being done with it. We wondered if Mordechai would even come like this.
No sooner did the thought cross his mind, Mordechai let out a low hum and sheathed fully into Jonah, dragging his breath out through his teeth along with it. His hand massaged Jonah's jaw and Jonah forced himself to relax it, to seem much less affected than he felt.
Back in those days, before Mordechai would know the cold, be familiar with the fears in his own mind, Lord Lukas had been a kinder man. Not nice, not by any stretch of the word, but capable of some level of empathy towards those in his social class.
"You've been very patient, Magnus." Jonah could barely hold himself any longer, kept in place by the hand lapped around his torso. "I'll make it worth your while."
Jonah choked back a sob, nodding very quickly. Mordechai positioned himself, posed Jonah as well, hands firm against the boy's thin hips, and set his new pace. Mordechai rolled against Jonah, not particularly fast, but with the strength of ocean waves on a cliff. Jonah imagined himself carved by the impact, speared - slowly, agonizingly so, eons work to make himself to Mordechai's desired image of him. When he desired to see him.
For as much as he tried, Jonah could not, would not be quiet through it. And since no one had asked him to be, Jonah could wail out his demons, curse the man behind him and, yes, beg for him. Mordechai rumbled a laugh.
"And I was just admiring your restraint." he said but conceded. Mordechai gripped Jonah's cock, stroking it a few times to spark its attention, getting dribbles of precome to wet his hand, before setting the same pace of his hips. Jonah shut his eyes closed, and the whole of the heady feeling of pleasure washed over him, shaking his ribs along with it. At the point of completion, Jonah was nothing more than a liquid, malleable, limp. His hot red face was pressed to the wet pillowing. He cried out, incomprehensible, wholly involuntary, shook apart and snapped.
There followed a moment's hesitation, halted, in which Jonah could feel the sweat cooling against his skin, broken by an amused scoff. Mordechai resumed his motion and would soon follow suit, pressed to Jonah's back with his teeth bared against his skin.
It wasn't until Mordechai pulled himself back from him and sat at the end of the bed that Jonah registered that moment. It sunk into him, cold and heavy, and settled in his throat.
"What was that?"
Mordechai made to not hearing him, cleaning himself, fastidious with it. Jonah turned to him.
"What was that?" he asked again, painting it with vice.
"What was what?"
"You laughed."
Mordechai sat back against the headboard and undid Jonah's binding. He reached to take his wrists, assess their state, provide the necessary relief, but Jonah snapped his hand away and stood up, hands on his hip. Mordechai watched him with a raised brow, racking his eyes down his body unabashedly.
"Why the hell did you laugh?"
"It was not really a laugh, per say." Jonah's frown told Mordechai that wouldn't do as an answer. The older man settled into bed, heavy, pondering. "You are just... loud."
"How so?"
"Jonah..."
"No, go on!"
"You wail like a virgin." Mordechai said, "I understand the need to peacock yourself, and I'm sure your lovers find themselves enamoured by it, but it is a bit much, isn't it?"
Jonah fell quiet. He did not hear another word Mordechai told him, not as he showered nor as he dressed. He vaguely registered kissing his lips on his way out.
"Leaving already?" Mordechai's hand was on his hip. By the looks of things, he'd expected to keep him around.
"Yes, I should. Long day tomorrow."
Mordechai would believe him or wouldn't care either way. He called him a carriage, tried to kiss him again, but Jonah stepped back.
"Goodnight, Lord Lukas."
*
Despite going to the very same college, it's not often that Barnabas and Jonah get to spend a time together. Their schedules rarely if ever synch up, with both of them having different after class activities, it even often works out they don't see each other all week. That said, they try, as possible, to make time to meet during the weekends.
Jonah laid his head on the grass, his curls clashing against the fresh green of the flowerbed, framed like a Renaissance portrait, arched in ecstasy. Barnabas watched him in awe, with the secret desire of keeping him like this forever. Jonah, being still human, despite all evidence to the contrary, pushed Barnabas back down, where he was so expertly tearing him apart, eating him raw.
Barnabas ran his hands down the side of Jonah's body, so warm with the spring sun blooming the freckles of his youth, kissing his skin. Jonah sighed underneath him, muttered his name like a plea. And Barnabas could not, would never think to refuse him.
Barnabas hooked two fingers to his hole, holding him open, and slid his tongue in until he found the soft meat of his prostate. Jonah threw his head back and Barnabas knew he had found it.
In a matter of moments, Jonah's legs were quivering around his head. He clammed them shut, trapping Barnabas between them as Jonah came, lacing his stomach in white. He moaned Barnabas name, short, low and sweet.
And Barnabas frowned.
"Is everything alright, dove?" Barnabas asked, sitting up between his legs. Jonah's head fell to the side, still trying to catch his breath.
"Thank you, beloved, I needed that." he sighed, kissing Barnabas sloppily on the lips. He was far too stunned to respond. Jonah's mouth then followed the path of his tongue down his neck to his chest and stomach.
"Jonah..." Barnabas murmured, and Jonah purred, beneath him.
"Shh, angel. I'll make you feel so good."
And how could Barnabas refuse him.
*
Emily stood, back to the wall, waiting for the water to boil under the heat of the flame. It persisted, the temperature refusing to rise, and Emily closed her eyes in order not to feel every excruciating second lost to it.
"G'evening, Emily."
She didn't bother opening her eyes, raised her hand and waved goodbye at Jonah, listening to his heels click on the tile until he was out the door. Exactly ten minutes later, the water had not yet boiled, and Emily was starting to question her own sanity, when Jonathan walked into her lab.
"What'd you guys argue about now?"
Jonathan paused, closed the cabinet and looked at her "We didn't..."
"Mhm. I assumed you guys were upset or something." Emily poured the faulty water down the drain. The pot itself was cool to the touch.
"Why would you assume that?" Jonathan asked. Emily gestured vaguely with her hand as a response and left the room, to which Jonathan quickly followed suit "Wait, Emily-"
"What! I'm working."
"Why would we be upset?!"
Emily stopped so suddenly Jonathan almost bashed his head against her.
"Jonah only visits when he wants something. Whenever he comes by, you two go in, lock yourself in about an hour, have sex and then he's out. Lately he hasn't. I assumed you guys had a fight."
Jonathan's face turned pink then crimson, eyes blown wide and black in his pupils "How'd you... "
"Jonathan... Your office shares a wall with my lab. I hear everything. All the time. Besides, he's not particularly quiet about it."
Emily went down into the storage to retrieve a new bottle of gas and returned to her lab, setting it up. She lit back the flame and placed the pot against it. In a few moments, the metal heat up and changed colour.
"We're still sleeping together."
"You're still here?" Emily asked, not looking at Jonathan where he stood behind her, looking out the window at the street below.
"Do you think I did something wrong?"
"Why, because he finally stopped screaming so loud the whole building should be able to hear him? No, Jonathan, maybe someone just told him to put a lid on it."
"I suppose so..."
"Can you get out of my lab, Jonathan?"
*
These sorts of gatherings had become somewhat infrequent as of late. It had become harder to gather everyone under the same roof, what with each moving on from college and into other projects, not always in London, or that kept them busy far more often, that they could not on a whim show up.
The group had thus withered to a few, brought together mostly out of Albrecht’s and Jonah's insistence. They'd had dinner, a lovely time, before moving to the couches. Conversation turned to murmurs turned to groping and sweet whispers, and the night would have proceeded like that had not the Magnus' valet come to interrupt and remind the siblings of a previous engagement. They stood, biding their friend’s goodbye, and left the room, tense without their presence cushioning the different groups there gathered.
The energy quickly drained out. Barnabas sat back down on his seat and fixed his cravat, somewhat embarrassed with it, though he was not the only one in disarray. Mordechai was looking at him, but it felt odd to continue kissing him without Jonah's mouth on his ear egging him on.
Jonathan tried starting a topic of conversation, but it quickly died out. Elizabeth stood to leave then sat back down again several times, before serving everyone another round of bourbon.
"Friends, if I may..." Albrecht finally said.
"Yes." Jonathan and Barnabas said simultaneously, eager for anything to break the silence.
"Do any of you know what happened with Jonah?"
"You'll have a be a bit more specific, Heir Closen." Barnabas asked.
"If anyone insulted his honour or something of sorts."
"Is he getting into a duel?" Jonathan asked.
Mordechai barked a laugh "Jonah? Please..."
Albrecht nodded his head "Not like that, no. It's far more... well, how'd you say..." he gestured vaguely, looking at Clara for support "It's an intimate matter."
"Ah..." Barnabas and Jonathan said simultaneously. Barnabas sat very straight, gripping the arms of his chair.
"It's true I haven't been to London in a while, but I remember Jonah being far more, ah, expressive, during the act. I felt him restraint in our last encounter, and I wondered if something might have happened."
"I guess he's just more quiet now..." Jonathan replied, quietly, hiding his face behind the bourbon.
Albrecht shook his head.
"This is very intentional on his part, friends, obstinate even. His pride is very obviously injured."
Elizabeth cleared her throat "If I may." Albrecht nodded "Mr. Magnus does not care what anyone thinks of him, he's just so... unabashedly himself. Would he really care if someone told him he was too loud in the bedroom?"
"Even the great wall bears cracks."
"It's a shame..."
Barnabas's felt the eyes of the room turn to him all at once and sunk further into his seat, crimson covering his face.
"Ah, well uh... I liked it when he screamed... Felt rather validating, I suppose."
Albrecht smiled and nodded, which only made Barnabas feel worse. He'd like to leave.
"I can't see who might have said something to hurt him, I mean, I don't know who, other than the people in this room would know this quirk of his." Jonathan said.
"I guess Kempton," Barnabas replied, then trailed off "he has complained he's too boring to make him uh... well. You know."
"But none of us would have said anything, right?!"
As Jonathan said this, Barnabas quickly glanced across the room. It was purely instinctive, just a reflex of his eyes, that the words drew him to look at Mordechai. He hadn't meant anything by it, far from it, but the moment his eyes met Mordechai's, he knew his fleeting thoughts had been correct. Mordechai frowned at him and finished his drink in a single motion, then stood to leave.
Elizabeth had changed the subject, Clara was serving more alcohol, and the other two seemed to have let the subject slip form their minds, that they didn't say anything when Mordechai then Barnabas left the room.
"Lord Lukas." Barnabas called, hurrying his step down the hallway.
When Mordechai didn't respond, Barnabas ran to him and grabbed his hand, to which Mordechai stopped, frozen in his tracks, and turned to him with a cold glance.
Had his skin always been this frigid, had his eyes always been this blue?
"Sir, I'm sorry, I meant no perjury." he said, immediately letting go, but standing firm. He would not let this matter go. "I'd just like a moment of your time."
"Make it quick. And watch your mouth, Bennett."
Barnabas took a sharp breath.
"Whatever happened between you is none of my business." When that didn't spark a reaction, Barnabas relaxed minutely "Thus, I have no place telling you how to proceed... Knowing him, Jonah is hurting himself over this matter, and there's not much we can do about a wound we do not comprehend the depth of."
He threaded as though upon thin ice.
"His feelings and yours are not my problem." Mordechai replied, holding his breath for a pause, but what words he might have had died in it.
"It is a loss for all of us. For you."
"If you say so."
Barnabas scoffed.
Mordechai laughed, cruel and sharp "Go on, boy, speak your mind."
"No, I don't think I will."
In two long steps, Mordechai had closed the space between them and knocked Barnabas up against the wall. Barnabas looked up, trying to keep his eyes locked on his, refusing to let himself be intimidated by this man.
"Speak." Mordechai ordered, low.
To hell with it.
"You pretend to be, oh, so unaffected by everything, but you're no different from us, captain." Barnabas said, and it felt like having a dagger to his throat. He'd gone too far, couldn't stop now "Your siren calls, you complain, but you still go to him."
Barnabas could hear ringing in his ears.
Mordechai stepped back, patted his cheek "Now, was that so hard."
Barnabas hissed and pushed his hand away, to which the older man laughed with real amusement. "So fierce, it really is a delight to witness. I might just listen."
"Cease your mockery."
"I am not. And in a show of good faith, I'd like to request your assistance."
It was another trap; Barnabas was sure of it. Mordechai's volatility had gotten him in trouble in the past, and he'd always known it would get him in trouble again. The man kept Barnabas in this odd distance between them, in which he was always unsure of the relationship between them. At times antagonistic, if there were other people around, at others, alone, in private, he was friendly, Mordechai's shifting humours kept Barnabas on edge. It was an equilibrium, at the end of the day.
He stepped away from the space Mordechai had him enclosed in. "With?"
"If your dandy's feelings are hurt, an apology will scarcely suffice. He'll settle for nothing but repentance."
"From you?"
Mordechai grinned "You can see how that might be an issue."
"What'd you have in mind?"
*
There were little to no pretences Barnabas could shield himself behind when inviting Jonah and Mordechai to his townhouse. One or the other, sure, but not the two together. When they sat in living room, sharing of a brandy, they all knew how it would end. Barnabas and Mordechai did not see eye to eye in business, Jonah refrained from discussing it with him. From their little circle, only Mordechai and Jonah came together for the sole purpose of discussing money, but they always retired from polite company. Their business was a far more private and intimate thing than bedding. So, to have all three of the in a room, no talk of money would be had, and there was just so long Mordechai could go on talking about other people's lives.
Inexorably, they'd find themselves in the bedroom.
Barnabas sat at the end of the bed, and Jonah wasted no time climbing on top of him, perching himself on his knees with his arms laced around his neck. He grinned into the space between their faces, where Barnabas was enraptured by his lips. He closed the gap, kissing Barnabas, softly at first, who then responded with a sort of desperation, deepening it. He balled his hands into Jonah's vest, tearing his clothes from his body without ever breaking the kiss. Jonah chuckled at his boy's eagerness, undoing his vest far more patiently.
Above them, Lukas watched, a gelid figure in Jonah's peripheral.
"Didn't peg you for the voyeuristic type, my Lord." Jonah said, carting his fingers through Barnabas hair as the boy mouthed at his jaw, then down his neck, to where he'd exposed the skin covering his clavicle.
Mordechai scoffed but did not say anything. Unhurriedly, he broke his cuffs and pulled back his sleeves over his forearm, where he was all raw, work muscle.
"If you two are quite done?"
"Awh, jealous, Mordechai?" Jonah said in a sing-song tone. Barnabas muffled a snort against his neck "If you want a little kiss, all you have to do is ask, I'm in a giving mood."
"You're in an insufferable mood." Mordechai responded, cold with it.
"According to you, I always am."
"However do you two get anything done bickering like this all the time baffles me." Barnabas chimed. Jonah immediately opened his mouth to retort, but Barnabas stopped him with a vicious tug at his exposed nipple "Hush."
"Ah, fine, you brutes, have it your way."
"Show me your hands." Mordechai held his wrists up, parallel to each other, one palm facing the other. Jonah raised his arms and copied him, allowing Mordechai to run a silk red fabric around and between his wrists. He tied it up with a strong knot, obviously so by what it looked like, but Jonah still tested it.
He found his hands bound when in Mordechai's company more often than not. The Lord had once told him he thrashed too much, but Jonah had always suspected Mordechai did not enjoy having his hands all over him which, granted, if Jonah had access to his hands, Mordechai's pale skin would be covered in scratches and marks come morning. Barnabas certainly was, he could still see it now, the faint red parallels of where his nails had dug into his skin. What Jonah wouldn't do to be allowed to mark Mordechai like that, brand him.
"My turn then?" Barnabas asked and Jonah laughed.
"Another present for me? How generous." Barnabas pulled from his pocket a twin silk to that tied around his wrists "What's that one for then."
"Your eyes, if you'll let me."
"My eyes? Really? Whatever for?" Jonah asked, incredulous. It wasn't that he was absolutely opposed to the concept, but he'd come to rely very heavily on that sense. To gage his audience's reaction, to find which better pleased them, and yes, the simple pleasure of watching them loose their cool.
"Privacy?"
"What an interesting concept, Mr. Bennett."
Barnabas laughed as he covered his eyes. Jonah's heart skipped a beat the moment the darkness enveloped him, he ventured to anchor himself to Barnabas's touch, decided to commit it to memory, that he might tell his lovers apart. Despite his whole focus being on this task, he could not say with certainty whose finger grazed his jaw. Calloused, both of them were, large, might have been a trick of his own mind. The touch was very gentle, which made him think it was Barnabas, could only have been him, as though he feigned to forget how closely Mordechai held him after a particularly hard scene, how his lips rested against his bruises, how almost human he was then.
When the hand wrapped around his throat, putting pressure right to his artery, Jonah immediately knew it had to be Mordechai, so obsessed that the man was with reminding Jonah of how easy it would be to snap his neck. Jonah felt his own fear in the back of his throat, so pungent he could nearly taste it, even if he could still breath, if the fingers were just grading his windpipe. Like the playing of the flute. Jonah gasped.
Barnabas stepped back from the bed momentarily, only just to remove his boots and vest, but his eyes were always on Mordechai, and his hand around Jonah's throat. Realistically, he knew nothing would happen, but his nerves were always alight where Mordechai was concerned. He was, however, not looking at Jonah through this, but rather right back at Barnabas. He followed his motion as he climbed back into bed.
"Some blessed quiet, at last." Barnabas said. He leaned sideways on his forearm, running a hand through Jonah's chest, the slight swell of his stomach, the line of scarlet hair, faded from being trimmed recently.
It was a tight squeeze, but Barnabas managed to angle himself just so to kiss Jonah's chest. All the while, his hands would not stop moving, busy at undoing his pants and briefs. He bared him fully and placed a kiss next to the base of his cock, just to see it twitch. Jonah's wheeze changed tone halfway through it, and Barnabas knew Mordechai had tightened his grip. He lifted his head - just to check - and saw Jonah's face lost in bliss, eyes rolled to the back of his head, droll dribbling down the side of his cheek and pooling at Mordechai's knuckles.
"No need to fret, Bennett." Mordechai said, "Your boy adores being handled like this."
"I could tell as much. Can't say I understand."
If brief, Barnabas is sure Mordechai's lips lift minutely in a smile "I could show you, just say the word."
"Oh, I'd like that." Jonah hummed around Mordechai's hand, his windpipe vibrating upon the contact. The Lord pressed his wrist to his pulse, shutting him up.
"If you please." Mordechai gestured with his head.
"Ah, of course. Allow me."
Barnabas laid down on his stomach between Jonah's legs, the shadow of Mordechai's bulk covering the two of them. It took courage, or perhaps stupidity, to lay between the two, as violent as they were often one to get. Barnabas hoped he might shield them, somewhat, but really, there was a thrill to laying underneath Mordechai, his curls grazing his bulge over his pants. If Barnabas lifted his head, he might very well feel Mordechai through his briefs.
He pressed a brief kiss to Jonah's perineum, before dragging it down to his hole. He heard Jonah's breath catch, which would be dangerous considering how Mordechai was holding air as ransom, when his tongue first grazed his entrance. Barnabas then reached into his briefs and pulled a small glass vile, from which he poured a generous amount of oil into his fingers, before feeding them, one by one into Jonah. He took the first easily, the second one just so. Barnabas fingered him, gentle and slow, to work him open, yes, but mostly to hear him sigh and subsequently wheeze as Mordechai's grip grew even tighter.
"Take another one, Magnus?" Mordechai asked but did not ease his grip in any way. Jonah tried to speak first, but all that came put was a, quite honestly, pathetic little wheeze - he was starting to feel rather faint; Mordechai might have been fuzzy at the edges. Just a little more - so he nods instead. "Greedy little thing."
"I'll say, Mr. Lukas, he wouldn't be satisfied with my fingers alone. I think he's gotten far too used to them, all loose, see?"
Mordechai leaned back to watch the demonstration, in which Barnabas hooked his fingers inwards to open Jonah further. Jonah gawd, very distant from his own pain.
"Indeed, he is. Should refrain from indulging him as often as you do."
"Hardly my fault, that. Our little harlot's got me all wrapped up around his finger."
"He better be worth all that."
Barnabas smiled fondly, meeting Jonah's tear glazed eyes.
"Very much so."
Barnabas was as indulgent as Mordechai was slow, making for the most excruciating foreplay of Jonah's entire life. He aimed to be thorough, digging into him in rolled motions. They were quiet, all three of them, finally, Mordechai would have said, the room filled with just the obscene wet sound of Barnabas's fingers thrusting into Jonah, and his subsequent mewls of pain-pleasure. Quiet, even still, so very much so from what Barnabas was used to from him. It was a pang to his ego, for sure, but much more did it worry him for the effort Jonah was going to not to make a fool of himself, as Mordechai had him believe.
That was what they were there to amend.
Barnabas tapped Mordechai's thigh, to which the older man slowly eased the lock he was keeping Jonah's throat in. Jonah gasped and heaved, his chest running against where Mordechai pressed his hand to feel his fear. He grinned and Jonah rolled his eyes.
"Bit affected?"
"Bite me, Lukas."
The Lord bared him his teeth "I might just take you up on that." And, as though he really intended to, Mordechai lowered himself to Jonah's waist. He did not, bite him that his, hiding his threat behind his lips to place them around his head. Mordechai lapped his tongue over Jonah's slit, gathering his precome. For a moment, he considered spitting it back into his face, but refrained. If it had been just the two of them, he might have. Not with an audience.
Jonah bucks and mewls, but does not, will not allow himself to moan. He gasps, that helps, relieves some of the tension in his chest, and it is enough, until Barnabas slips a third finger in and presses them all to his prostate. His eyes shut closed behind the red silk, which is wet by now with his tears and his effort. But he's obstinate. Jonah has made a life out of defying nature itself, he'll be dammed if he can't control his own body. He's been doing wonderful so far.
So intense that it is his focus, Jonah only notices his orgasm as it crashes into him. He keens and snaps, and Mordechai's tongue is there, taking him in, and cleaning him once he's done.
He doesn't make a sound.
Once he resurfaces, a chuckle of relief escapes him. "Seems you've gotten somewhat over excited, boys." he comments, before realization hits. Despite him having just come, Barnabas is still thrusting into him, slow and persistent, and Mordechai is keeping his softening cock between his lips. Jonah chokes down a groan into his forearm, as the pleasure and relief of his orgasm morphs into overstimulation and pain, rather quickly. His voice comes out high and incoherent when he begs for them to stop.
Barnabas waits for the word to come, but it doesn't, so he grins into his thigh, that Jonah might feel, more than hear, his smugness.
"I think he's got at least one more in him for us, don't you agree, Lord Lukas?"
Mordechai hums around the base of Jonah's cock, who gasps in return.
"Most certainly."
Jonah doesn't know which name he hisses through gritted teeth, cut short by a sharp, pained scream. Pleasure is once again coiling in his stomach, tainted with his exertion. It hurts him, violently. He knows, distantly, that Barnabas runs cool, reassuring hands down the side of his thighs, to ease him, but he hardly feels it through the torrent of touch. He's beginning to lose sense of it. When the second wave hits him, Jonah whites out. His come is little more than spurts, and still they keep on going.
He loses himself to it, and is horrified to find he no longer has any sense to keep check of his own voice. He watches, as though detached from himself, as they rip a scream from his lips, before he can seal them shut. He tries, very desperately, to stop himself, until he feels the press of lips to his. It keeps his own open, drinks in his moaning and sobbing, adoringly. It's sweet and so bitter, to know that he has failed and still be rewarded for it, that Jonah begins to weep, openly. It soaks his blindfold, which is then removed, but he keeps his eyes shut through it, so that he does not have to see his failure in Mordechai.
"You sound lovely, beloved." His voice mutters into the kiss. Jonah sobs and Mordechai kisses his tears from his cheeks, from the corner of his eyes "Let me see you, let me hear you, please."
Jonah doesn't want to disappoint.
Barnabas looks up from his task to watch the two of them, with fondness and relief. Jonah's moans are raptured into Mordechai's mouth at the wake of his third orgasm. His cock, tired and flaccid, barely moves with it, the only indication being the tension of his muscles
around Barnabas's fingers. He finally eases up, and they pop out with an obscenely loud pop.
Jonah is broken by then. Barnabas gets up to get him some water while Mordechai dutifully cleans him, his stomach, his legs, the sweat from his face. He's slow, gentle, knowing that any harsh touch of the cloth will provoke more pain. Jonah leans into the touch. Once his hands are unbound, he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, until he's made to drink.
"All alright, angel?" Barnabas asks, in a sliver of his voice. Jonah looks at as though through him, before he turns to Mordechai.
" 'Bit much'? Thought you did not enjoy, how'd you put it... theatrics."
"Now I found I've changed my mind."
Jonah scoffs and looks away. His face is burning in a way it hasn't since that night and once again he's assaulted by the need to stand and leave.
"I think Mr. Lukas means he's apologizing for his behaviour." Barnabas chimes in. He takes Jonah's hand.
"You should not speak for others, Bennett..." Jonah grumbles, with little earnest behind it.
Barnabas scoops Jonah up in his arms, until his head is pressed to his chest. He carts his fingers through his head, soothing and reassuring as he says "You're ideal as you come, love, as is your voice. You should not feel the need to keep yourself from us.". Jonah breaks a bit at the attention, and turns to hide his face, not before Mordechai has the chance to stop him. He holds his chin straight and places a kiss atop his lips but does not say anything. In fairness, there's nothing to add but an apology, and they both know there will be none.
*
Jonah sleeps. Hurt, comforted and pleased, he felt the weight of exhaustion hit him like a stallion and, apologizing for the inconvenience, laid himself to sleep under the heavy duvet.
His chest rises, slow, with a set pace, that Barnabas feels himself imitating just by virtue of watching him for so long. His arm has begun to numb under the pillow, but he refuses to move as to not upset his lover, who looks so peaceful and beautiful asleep as he is.
He aches, unsatisfied, but he does not pretend to have come to the room expecting any other outcome. They had a mission, whilst successful, it is now over and rendered his lover incapacitated, incapable of returning the favour. Barnabas doesn't mind, he thinks, rubbing circles into the palm of Jonah's hand with a dumb smile in his lips.
Mordechai returns to the bed then. Barnabas isn't sure how long he's been gone, because he wasn't sure he'd be at all, nor where he went. He smells of the rain. Perhaps out for a smoke. Barnabas feels him watching him. He turns and raises a brow in his direction, to which Mordechai gestures him to come over. Barnabas is non-inclined to do so, and usually that would be that. Mordechai furrows his brow.
He crosses the room in one stride and takes Barnabas wrist with enough force to bruise him, hauling him up from his position to his knees, that he's up to his level. Barnabas chokes down his pain and says instead "Violence will get you nowhere with me, Sir.", his voice low enough to have been a whisper, tinged with some hurt. He twists his wrist until Mordechai eases his hold and let's go, but stays kneeling in front of him, massaging his reddened skin.
"Alright." Barnabas meets Mordechai's eyes again, only after his wrist has stopped stinging "Shall we try that again?"
Mordechai grumbles something behind his lips, which could have been an agreement or a complaint. Barnabas carefully raises his hand to the side of his cheek, and when he's allowed to touch the other without being swatted away, leans in for a kiss, readily returned.
Barnabas finds Mordechai exceptionally cold. He shivers at the first contact, and it breaks an opening for Mordechai to take the reigns. Barnabas let's him, his eyes flutter closed, and he allows for this man that always keeps himself so distance at any other time to press his body into him. It's soft and sweet and so utterly ill-fitting of this cold and cruel man. His hands go around his waist and easily haul him up, and Barnabas is not a small man and is not used to being held, so it's jarring and thrilling. He presses his hands flat to Mordechai's chest for support.
With Barnabas's help, Mordechai hauls down his trousers. He presses his wrist to his half-erection with an amused chuckle. Barnabas hisses through gritted teeth.
"How awfully rude of him to leave you like this." Mordechai hums, laying Barnabas back on the bed and sinking to his knees.
"Can't say I whole-heartedly condemn him..."
"Of course you don't." Mordechai oils his fingers and draws circles at Barnabas rim. His breath catches in his throat, and he casts his eyes up to where Jonah is, still, fast asleep. "You've got a soft heart. Shame he hardly seems to care."
Barnabas scoffs, plays deaf to Mordechai's tease. It's easy to forget and let go when Mordechai's finger breeches him.
Mordechai works him open, slow as he's often one to be, and Barnabas keeps track of his own breathing, heavy and filled with desire, because it's the only way to keep himself from making too much noise that might wake Jonah up. Throughout, Mordechai remains unfairly skilled, and drives Barnabas hot and bothered in a matter of instants.
With three fingers in him, Mordechai spreads Barnabas as far as he can go before he screams, and watches his face contort in pain with a grin.
"Think you're ready for me?" Mordechai rises to his full height and Barnabas has to close his eyes against his own desire. God.
"Only one way to find out."
Mordechai barks a laugh.
Mordechai lines himself, steady, and surges forwards, arms on either side of Barnabas head. He's immediately so very close, and they breathe together in the space between them, a simultaneous low sigh, until Mordechai's hips are pressed to his.
It isn't very often they come together like this. It isn't very often Barnabas lays on the receiving end - it happens, but his most frequent lays prefer him servicing, and so he's more than welcome to do so - let alone of someone like Mordechai. It's a stretch, but he's been well prepared, with care, he'd dare say. He thinks he understands why Jonah seeks Mordechai's company as often as he does. The man's positively addictive, through no special intervention of his own.
Barnabas places deft hands on Mordechai's chest like a question, and when the other nods, Barnabas begins to undo the buttons on his shirt. One by one, they reveal the pale skin underneath, blossomed through with the heat of arousal. Barnabas touch is light, fleeting, drawing motions that barely seem to be registered by the skin itself. Mordechai leans further down to allow him to kiss him, that don't linger any longer than the touches do.
They move in tandem with each other, the rough motions of Mordechai's hips meeting Barnabas's, almost still, swaying just so to keep the distance between them sweet. Between kisses and bites, Mordechai climbs onto the bed, to have Barnabas stretched underneath him. His hand goes from holding his hips to around his waist, bringing the two of them closer still.
There's no sound to it but that of their effort. They breathe in the space between each other. Mordechai's forehead presses against Barnabas with a particularly heavy, lowly sigh, breath hot where Barnabas's skin is on fire. When he looks up to meet his eyes, Barnabas's heart sinks into the pit of his chest.
Mordechai is not looking at him. His eyes, half lidded with pleasure, screwed with effort, are darted every so slightly from Barnabas’s face to the man laying across the bed from them. Jonah still sleeps, Barnabas hears him too. It's unbearable like this, to watch and know his lover, the man running caresses to the lower of his back, is thinking of someone else.
More unbearable still that Barnabas knows he's no better than him. That he too wishes the mouth on his chest was another. He closes his eyes against it and, by some cruel twist of fate, it's even worse like this. With his eyes closed, the sighing in his ear sounds sharper, higher, like it hailed from a much thinner throat. Phantom touch covers him whole, and Barnabas is lost to it, to the cool non-skin in his nipples, in his thighs, in his hands. Barnabas closes his fists around nothing and the ache in his chest boils up to the surface. The next sound that leaves his throat no longer resembles anything like pleasure.
"Barnabas." Mordechai's voice calls to him, a groan that reverberates in Barnabas's ribcage. He opens his eyes then to meet his and find that Mordechai is smiling at him. Initially, Barnabas tricks himself into believing it is in sympathy, but the longer he stares, the deeper he looks into his eyes, the duller the light in his eyes, the more he sees the strain in his lips. It turns into something almost predatory, victorious of a game Barnabas is wholly unaware he was playing.
Sheathing himself fully into Barnabas, Mordechai pauses to kiss the tears off of Barnabas's eyes. He grinds his hips, slowly, as he does it, taking his time to drink from him. Then, he moves to kiss his lips and comes tasting of salt and hurt. Barnabas shudders a sob as he comes, and Mordechai drinks it straight out of his mouth, like a man starved for it.
Once he's done, Mordechai pulls himself out - Barnabas aches around his lost - and pumps his length fastidiously, like this part is completely indifferent to it. Despite his hurt, despite feeling that something had been carved out of his chest and offered as tribute to this cruel, bitter man, Barnabas lifted his hand between them, lacing his fingers with Mordechai's. The older man comes with a heavy, low grunt, spending himself over Barnabas's stomach. He looks down at Barnabas then, eyes lidded in pleasure, and smiles, more affable this time.
"Thank you, Mr. Bennett." he purrs, and places a kiss to the side of his lips. Barnabas says nothing - his skin is so frigid again. Somehow, Barnabas knows it wasn't about the service provided, but the stolen offering.