Untitled

Author: Skitz_Phenom
Rating: MA for graphic sex
Summary: It was another dance, he decided, as he observed the two writhing against one another; base and primal in its intentions, but a dance nonetheless.
This story is based on a longer Kickshipping fic: "Indecent Rhythm."

Rolling lazily from his sprawl on the sweat-damp pillow, Joey shifted his ragdoll-limp body just enough to get an elbow beneath him and prop his head against the bend of his wrist. He exhaled sharply, his lungs still slowing from their gasping pant to a steady, cleansing tempo; while his pulse juddered less and less frantic with every beat. His own measured breath drying the perspiration on his bare chest and abdomen, he stared over at the slowly moving forms of Duke and Tristan with the gaze of a sated predator; satisfied but still intrigued by the prey before it. Entangled only a few feet away, close enough that the mattress quivered beneath him with their motion, the pair moved in a pendulous rhythm, one body surging forward and the other rocking back eagerly to meet it.

“Hey, Joey.” A panting voice called out, and what did it mean that he couldn’t tell which of the two men had spoken? “You just gonna lay there an’ watch?”

Too boneless to bother fighting with the top-sheet that tangled his jellied legs, the blond man nodded, and then realized they probably weren’t watching him at the moment. “Yeah.” He amended aloud, grinning softly. It was another dance, he decided, as he observed the two writhing against one another; base and primal in its intentions, but a dance nonetheless. Like the fiery tango or smooth-stepping waltz, this primitive ritual required the same finesse and care. Bodies had to come together, find the correct handholds and positions, and discover the same cadence and measures after a bit of trial and error.

He remembered the first time he and Tristan had tried this particular rumba; the bruises and pulled hair and the not-so-pleasant sensation of nearly losing an eye to a misplaced elbow. It was Duke who helped them through the more complicated measures of this dance as well. It took practice, the same as the more prosaic form, but they had a good teacher and had been more than willing to rehearse… over and over, and over again.

Joey smiled indulgently. He’d have to mention his wayward thoughts to Duke sometime. He imagined the older man would have something to say about his new definition of ‘dance-lessons’. He could just imagine those laughing eyes and that pert grin suggesting that perhaps he start charging if that’s what Joey considered their intimate interludes.

And as far as dances went, the tempo of the one next to him certainly appeared to be picking up and it looked as though Tristan was nearing the end of the number.

A gasp. A wordless shout.

The brunette slumped against the sheets, body shuddering, while above him the darker haired man still slowly swayed. And didn’t that make sense? Duke had been doing this sort of dancing long before he taught the two of them. It was only right that his stamina would out last either of theirs. He watched as Duke eased back, eyes squeezed shut, letting his partner regain control even as he was so obviously desperate to lose his own.

Desire surged through Joey then, inspiring all sorts of other reactions in his apparently not-so depleted body – sometimes the fables of the resiliency of youth were more than just myth – and he worked feverishly to kick the sheets down around his bare feet. Once free, he rolled to his knees and crawled the short distance to the pair of them.

Lying prone on his stomach, head turned sideways, Tristan watched the blonds’ approach with a sloe-eyed, wordless smile. The dark haired man above him, whose chest curled over that broad back and whose whole body shook with the effort of holding back, canted his head just enough to offer him a similar, seductive grin.

Reaching out to place a hand over that quivering shoulder, Joey asked: “Mind if I cut in?”

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