DISCLAIMERS:    Don't be daft.  If they were mine it'd say so on the
                collars, yeah?
TITLE:          Three's A Charm
AUTHOR:         Ah, that's a matter of some debate.  kel just keeps shouting
                "you set me up", and Claire's scarpered
PAIRING:        Stamp/Quinnan/Carver
RATING:         NC-17

COMMENTS/EXCUSES/RATIONALISATIONS: Um.

====

Three's a Charm
by kel

====

"You sure he won't mind?"

Dave grins broadly, shouldering the door aside to let Jim in with the
crate.

"Nah, course not.  Matter of fact, he suggested it."

Jim swears in surprise, then again as the heavy box nearly slips out of
his hands.

"You're joking!"

He makes his way over to the head trestle table, letting the box go with
a sigh of relief, watching Dave quizzically as he gathers up the
remaining video and power cables.  He wonders, briefly, who's stupid
idea it was to video the damn party anyway.  Their footsteps echo in the
empty hall.

"Nope.  He's always had a bit of a thing for you.  'Ere, catch."

Quick flash of silver as the r/f and remote sails across the room.  Jim
stretches for them, leans back against the table, coiling the thin
metallic cord around his fingers.

"He told me *you* were the one with the thing."

"Oh, I've got a thing all right."

Dave staggers over, dropping two heavy coils at Jim's feet, tossing a
third over Jim's head, neatly trapping his arms.  He sidesteps,
straddles Jim's legs, takes the r/f and begins winding it round Jim's
wrists.

He grins, cheekily.

"So... are you up for it or what?"

"What... just like that?"

Dave smiles, slowly.   His hands are unexpectedly strong, unexpectedly
warm.

"Well... No time like the present..."

He holds Jim's gaze, meaningfully, one dark eyebrow arched in a parody
of seduction.

Jim laughs, disbelieving, looks from Dave to the open door and back.

"Come off it, Alistair 'n' them'll be here in a minute..."

He can't see much, the light outside is too bright.

Bright as the wicked glint in Dave's eyes.

"Relax.  I told him we'd shifted it to 4 o-clock. "

Jim shivers as Dave's strong fingers slide under his frayed cuffs, play
with the underside of his wrists, undo the battered buttons on the old
denim jacket.

"Plenty of time..."

Jim shifts, awkwardly, finds his legs pinned together between Dave's
thighs.  He tilts his head back as Dave leans in, suddenly heady with an
old, unexpressed desire.

"Look, we can't..."

He lets his voice trail off, deliberately; invitation and acceptance in
one.  He finds himself smiling, conspiratorially, eyes tracing every
inch of this so-familiar face, every line of this so-familiar body.  The
smell of Dave's skin starts a slow smouldering somewhere round the small
of his back.

What the hell.

He leans in to nuzzle at the dark wisps in the open V of Dave's polo
shirt collar.

Dave pulls back, quickly, stays just out of his reach.

"Oh...no...you...don't."

His hands tighten on Jim's wrists, warningly, playfully; his voice burns
long and low, breath deepening with welcome desire.

"Remember that training course?  Years back, when I had to play suspect
and you were interrogating me...?"

"Yee-es..."

"When you lost it in front of the supervising officer..."
Oh, he remembers all right.  The thought sends a frisson through him,
half shame, half excitement.  He braces, willingly as Dave lowers his
full weight onto his lap, forcing him to lean back, slightly.  Breathes
in, sharply, as Dave's fingers push his sleeves up, sliding back to
cover the contours of Jim's larger, rougher hands.

Dave grins, fixes his eyes on Jim's, looks steadily at him as his
fingers travel up the soft, inner skin and down again, his breathing
suddenly uneven.  As uneven as Jim's.  He feels a sudden surge of
arousal; knows without looking that Dave's as hard as he is.

Dave chuckles, low.  "You practically pinned me to the wall..."

"So...?"

Dave shifts closer still, as close as the hard edge of the table across
his thighs will allow.  Stroking the inside of Jim's hands now, strong
thumb and forefinger sliding around and up each finger in turn.  He
shifts his weight ever so slightly, then again, pressure building and
easing on Jim's thighs, his groin, the heat between them incredible.

"I dreamed about that for months..."

Makes two of them, but he wouldn't dream of saying so, not now.  Shift,
press, circle, fully erect, unforgiving flesh against his own.  Hardness
on hardness, differing shades of strained denim sliding, rubbing against
each other.  He moves to take Dave by the waist, crush him close, finds
his hands securely trapped.

Dave grins, shakes his head lightly.

"Night after night.  I used to go to sleep thinking about that...
thinking about your body, pressed to mine..."

His hips circle, thighs squeeze in time with the words, gentle pressure
down until the hard edge of their hands plays firmly, warmly across
their erections.

"Pressed hard against mine... thinking what if we'd been alone... what
if you'd reached down, taken me in your hand, like this..."

His fingers curl around Jim's index and third fingers, suiting action to
the words.  Stroking, circling, tugging...

"...or this..."

And he raises them to his mouth, runs his tongue, hot and wet, over the
tips, circles, traces patterns down the underside, between, around...
takes them wholly inside, sucks, works them, eyes locked on Jim's.  Jim
wants to laugh, can't, sweet agony in his balls as the back of Dave's
other hand grinds hard against him, hard against himself.  His other
hand pulls helplessly against the cable binding it.  Oh God, if he could
only //touch//...

He loses himself in the sensation, is surprised by pressure on his lips,
strong fingers sliding into his own mouth; hardens further at the salt
tang.  He takes them deep, concentrating, mirroring, closes his eyes and
is bitten, gently; opens them again to find Dave shaking his head.
Understands, keeps his gaze locked on Dave's, tracing the amusement, the
arousal in his eyes, always in time.

He feels like an idiot, he feels like God, here, their bodies grinding
hard together, fingers deep in each other's mouths and oh Christ it's
sexy as hell, and if this goes on much longer...

He doesn't hear the door swing to behind Dave, jumps like a shot rabbit
when a large, gentle hand descends on his shoulder.

"Started without me, Dave?"

He turns his head, embarrassed, finds Tony grinning down at him.   Dave
takes one last, wicked lap at Jim's knuckles, nips sharply at the
fingertips on the way out.  Grins wickedly up at Tony to the sound of
Jim's harshly indrawn breath.

"Well, I didn't think you'd mind..."

He grins impishly, allows his own fingers to slide wetly out of Jim's
mouth.  Jim's blushing, hot and hard and it hits him for the first time,
Christ these two are //lovers// and what if what if...

And Tony bends down, kisses Dave full on the mouth, passionately,
messily, a blend of familiarity and desire which renews the fire in
Jim's body in a way he wouldn't have believed possible.  Dave's still
circling his hips, gently, his hands curled in Tony's hair.  Jim tries
ineffectually to disentangle his hands, pressing hard against the
outline of Dave's cock, gratified by the small, raw sounds of desire
each touch produces.  He can only watch, breathlessly, as Dave's hand
wanders down, kneads the growing hardness between Tony's legs; watch, as
he thickens, responds, guides Dave's hand with his own.

The sense of familiarity, intimacy, routine shames him.  He's been with
more than one guy before, of course he has, but... always strangers,
unknowns, no web between them, no ties stronger than beer or football or
semen.  The wrongness of his presence, that he should see this, burns
bright inside him; this should be owned, this should be private, this
should be...  But he can't look away, can't resist the urge to touch
himself in time with the quiet, forceful motions of Dave's fingers, with
the play of Tony's mouth and tongue on Dave's.

He's struck dumb by the strength of emotion, the obvious bond between
them.  By the love.

He's taken by surprise as Tony turns swiftly; finds his mouth captured,
finds the kiss, this heat, the abrupt, masterful tongue against his, a
shocking relief - strong hands on his body, cupping the back of his
neck, pulling him into the embrace.  After the minutes of distance it's
almost enough to...

Too soon, not soon enough, Tony pulls away, chuckles, eyes clouded with
desire, breathing hard, harshly, strong fingers playing down the sides
of Jim's neck.

"I'm assuming that's a yes, then...?"

And all he can do is smile.  Tony reaches down, disentangles the r/f
lead and throws it away, letting one large hand come to rest on Dave's
head, stroking it, cupping it, guiding.  Dave stands, slowly, wicked
grin broadening as he looks at Jim.  He slides off his jacket, forearms
bare, dark hairs standing up in the cool of the room, hand rubbing
lazily across the bulge in his jeans, undoing the button, the zip, not
undressing, just giving himself room.  Brief flash of Cartman on the
boxers as he eases himself out, takes his hard, thick cock in his hand,
rolls the foreskin back, plays his thumb over the head, moist, ready.

Dave's eyes meet Tony's, quick flicker of a grin around the edges, gone.
Agreement.

Tony reaches out, guides Jim to his feet, steadies him as the blood
flows back to his legs.  He moves round behind him, lets his hands come
to rest on Jim's waist, trace down, cup his groin and squeeze before
moving back up, slowly, travelling just hard enough across his torso,
coming to rest on his shoulders.  Jim can't take his eyes off the
spreading moisture on Dave's cock, the twitch as his hand slides up,
down, circles... he barely notices as Tony pushes the loops of cable
down, forces them down his body, lets them drop to the floor.

"See the thing is, Jim...

And his jacket's sliding, backwards, leaving the back of his neck bare,
bare to Tony's breath, hot and harsh as the broad, soft fingertips down
his arms, moving back up and under his shirt, soft fingers on his
nipples, rubbing, squeezing in a way that makes him bite back a curse,
an incitement.

"...me and Dave, right... we're a pair."

And Tony's voice is low, whispered harsh against his ear, his erection
hard and grinding against the back of Jim's thighs; Dave's eyes are
fixed on his, smiling, moving closer, his hands working Jim's belt free,
now the button, now the zip, just hard enough and he wants to sob as the
pressure lessens.

"What's mine is his..."

Soft bite, hands on his chest lifting his shirt free as Dave bends to
slide his jeans down, down to his knees and no further, absurdly
exciting in itself, then back up, fingers hooked in the faded, frayed
elastic of his Y-fronts...

"...and what's his is mine."

And they're yanked down, hard, and one last glance as Dave's eyes meet
Tony's, and then Dave's on his knees, mouth still slick from Tony's kiss
sliding around, over his aching cock and it's a wonder he doesn't come
from the shock.

He feels fumbling behind him, feels denim give way to cotton give way to
flesh against him, hard prod and slide as Tony's erect cock presses hard
and warm against his back.  Sees Tony's pullover drop to the floor by
his foot, feels those large hands come down, urge his thighs apart to
give Dave more room, feels that hardness slip down into the space
between his legs, press hard under his balls, slide roughly against him
in gentle, slow thrusts.

And they're both gentle, so gentle, and the uneasiness he feels at
intruding is slipping away, washed away by the kind, inarticulate sounds
Tony's making as he nuzzles his neck and the sight of Tony's hand
stroking the side of Dave's head, murmuring, urging him on, stroking
Jim's hands, helping him guide his lover, reading him in a way that Jim
can't do, reading Jim in a way no-one has in a long time.  By the
affection and desire in Dave's eyes as he looks up, cheekily, sleepily,
holding Jim's gaze as long as Tony's; by the way Tony braces as he
arches back, involuntarily, holding him upright.  By the way their
interlocked hands play over his balls, the base of his cock, meeting and
parting and gentle.

He feels wanted.  Included.  Given to.  A thousand words, emotions crowd
for expression, and he can't say a thing though he wants to, oh, he
wants to...

Tony's as wired as he is, perhaps more so; every brush of his cock
against Jim's thighs, against the firm pressure of Dave's hand, working
Tony hard, is accompanied by soft moans.  He presses back against Tony,
back into the softness of his belly, reaches behind, desperate to thank
by touch, has his wrist gripped firmly, gently.

"Be'ave..."

Frantic, urgent; soft chuckle; sharp bite at just the right place under
his ear that almost sends him over the edge, insistent breathing as
ragged as his own.

Dave feels him jump, slides back until only the tip of Jim's cock is in
his mouth, tongue darting around the head, the white-hot fold.  Takes it
in his hand, whispers a wicked plea in a voice full of longing.

"Fuck 'im, Tone..."

And Jim can't help himself, moans and comes hard, splashing hard over
Dave's flushed face, brimming thickly over the gentle, teasing fingers;
that hot mouth just quick enough to capture the lesser spurts, prolong
the release, prolong the aftershocks as Tony calls Dave's name and pulls
Jim hard against him, buries his face in his shoulder and shudders, hot
seed captured in Dave's other hand, mingling with Jim's.

Their cries seem to hang in the air, thick with spent breath, with
emotion and the scent of sex.  Jim's head feels muzzy, he can't think
straight; nothing exists but the soft pressure of Tony's body behind him
and the soft lap of Dave's mouth and hand, cleaning, caring.  It's
minutes, hours, days before they move, before Dave straightens up, sits
back with a cheeky, hungry grin on his face, wiping ruefully at his chin
and neck.

"Blimey, if I'd known I'd have worn my other shirt..."

Laughter, a different release, a different need, felt and met.

"I'm sorry..."  Reflex.  Awkward.

Jim blushes, is shaken as Tony musses his hair up, not ungently.

"Mucky pup."

"If you two have quite finished..."

Dave's rocked back on his heels, looking up at them expectantly, cock
straining hard, absurd in front of him.  He holds out his hands,
gestures.

"Come on, I think me knees have locked..."

Jim waits, awkward again, feeling out of place, but is pushed forward,
gently, affectionately.

"Go on..."

And Tony's grinning at him again, so he chances it, takes Dave's hands,
pulls him to his feet.  Pulls him close and into a harsh, urgent kiss,
heady with affection, attraction, gratitude.  Feels Tony's hands on his
shoulders as he tastes himself, tastes Tony, feels satisfaction and
renewed desire in the twitch of Dave's cock against his belly.

He drops to his knees, slowly, kissing his way down that lean, dark
body, pushing the shirt aside, tonguing and nipping, not hard enough,
hands sliding firmly down, brushing the hollows at the top of Dave's
thighs, holding him still against the judders and starts.  Slides down,
takes Dave's cock, wet, straining, into his own mouth, and begins to
work him, to give in time with the growing urgency of Dave's directions,
murmured and stroked.

He gives his best, strokes, scrapes, nuzzles, takes Dave deep, keeps the
motions gentle, firm, urgent, balls rolling, shaft thick in the palms of
his hands.  He shifts without thinking as Tony moves in behind him,
doesn't need to look up to know they're entwined, kissing softly,
harder, urgently in time with the motion of his hands, his mouth on
Dave's body.  To know Tony's hands are roaming the curves and hollows of
Dave's body, to know Dave's nails are raking hot trails down Tony's back
and thighs.  To know they're making love, and making him part of it.

It's over too soon - he braces, takes Dave deep as he moans into Tony's
mouth, pulls him close, hand tangled hard and pulling in Jim's hair.  He
stays there as long as he can, kissing and touching in gentle movements
to mirror Dave's, Tony's thighs warm against his back.  Giving.

Until he's pulled up, gently, drawn upright.  Exhausted, happy.

Dave reaches out, cups one hand around the back of Jim's neck, puts the
other round  Tony's shoulders.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

He grins, cheekily.

"Although I //am// a little disappointed..."

Tony grins back at him, broad smile rich with wicked understanding.

"Your fault for getting 'im so excited, isn't it?"

He grins, claps Jim on the back.

"Ah well, there's always next time..."

They're both looking at Jim, now.  Expectantly.  But no pressure,
somehow.

And he can't help but grin back.

"Can I have that in writing?"

He feels Tony's body shaking, sees Dave studiously avoiding Tony's eyes,
trying not to laugh.

"What?"

And he can't help it, the sight of them, just the idea of what they've
done and where they are and who they are is enough to make him howl with
laughter, spluttering, clutching at them for support; the three of them
collapse against each other, giggling like idiots.

And nobody notices as the door opens, then shuts again, and Alistair
settles down outside with a sigh, a good book and a quiet smile on his
face.


=== end ===

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