more dangerous than the cigarette afterwards | WYRP ficathon.
it's an M, it's a very big M. Incest. Sex. You know.
Molly tastes different. Where Rosie is sweet, Molly is salty. Where Rosie grips his hair when he hits that place, Molly almost squeezes his head from his shoulders with her thighs. She is pretty distracted right now, so he forgives her. Rosie is straddling her face (hot, that's hot) eyes closed in ecstasy. Even from here he can see Molly's tongue hard at work, hitting all of the spots that make Rosie scream. Which makes him think that maybe they've done this before, and maybe he should question it, but then Molly is the one screaming, hips jerking, and he drinks her up, calming her down with a mix of his tongue and fingers until her hips have stopped moving and she's released his head. He crawls up her body, peppering kisses across her stomach, sucking at the underside of her breast until she whines. He winds one hand up Rosie's body until he finds her mouth and then she's sucking what's left of Molly from his fingers, a delicious hot suction that he wishes was replicated somewhere else.
He's not sure when it happened or who initiated it or how he got there when he doesn't remember (drunk, they're all kind of pissed) but he's flat on his back and Rosie's tongue is in his mouth, invading, flicking over the sensitive skin at the roof of his mouth, and damnit she's grinning, because she knows he is totally getting off on this. But she is too. They all are. That's the whole point of it.
Then his world to narrows to Molly's mouth, and oh, holy shit, he actually squeaks, and he's going to have to do something to make sure neither of them actually ever mention that to anyone ever. But shit, shit, fuck, yes, keep doing that, and he thinks he's babbling a string of nonsense, and even Rosie has stopped her exploration of that spot behind his ear to watch Molly. It's like a work of art. Taking him all in, slowly, her gaze locked with his, all glittery and menacing because she has him in the palm of her hand, and then in one long agonising, but delicious suck, she's pulling back before starting all over again. And it's all going to be over before it has a chance to start, and he's grunting and tugging on Molly's hair. She detaches herself from him with an obscene noise that has Rose biting her lip hard, and Molly is looking at him with one eyebrow raised. But he's not going to admit that he's too close to the edge for that to carry on.
He tilts his head to look at Rosie, seeking some kind of permission. He's not going to fuck Molly if she doesn't want him to, but if it's okay with her, then he's going to.
And then she's nodding, bending down to attack his neck. "I want to watch you fuck her." she murmurs in his ear, her voice as sugary sweet as the syrup he drizzles on the pancakes he makes in the mornings.
Molly must hear her because she's pushing herself up off her knees and straddling his hips. His cock brushes her folds, bumping against her clit, and she lets it, just for a moment, teasing them both. And then she holds him in her palm, a couple of quick pumps and she's sinking down on him, the little hitch in her throat telling him that she's almost as close as he is. She doesn't move straight away, lets them both take a moment to adjust, but then she's rocking her hips, small and tight circles that makes white spots explode in his vision. He wraps an arm around Rose's hips, tries to draw him towards her. If he can't fuck her, then he at least wants to make this good for her too. But she pushes him away.
"I want to watch." she insists again, her eyes on where their bodies are joined.
Molly's eyes are closed. Anywhere else, it would almost look serene, at peace, but the way her nails are digging into his stomach tells a different story. He can feel the tell tale signs, the fluttering of her muscles around him, not enough for him or for her, but she's close. So close.
"Eoin..." Rose says, her fingers combing through his hair. "I think Molly's going to come any time soon. You know what that's like." She's talking out loud, completely unabashed, not ashamed of the way she's talking to him. "So hot, so wet and tight. It's good for you, right?" He nods, can't possibly string together anything involving words. "You're not going to come. Because when you've fucked Molly, you're going to fuck me. You're not going to come until I tell you too. You understand?"
That alone almost makes him lose it. But he nods anyway, can't deny any of her wishes. And it's good that she'd told him then because Molly comes apart, grinds her hips into his, and oh it's hard, it's so hard (pun not intended, much) and he has to fill his mind with football, football until the worst (best) of it has passed.
Molly collapses on his chest, which doesn't help his situation, but he doesn't have the heart to move her. Rosie does though. She combs her hair through her cousins hair, and pulls her up, kisses her softly. And then Molly is rising, falling to the side of him to try and regain her breath. Rosie pulls him up to, wants him on top, and she wraps her legs around his hips as he positions himself, sliding into her with one thrust.
"You feel good." he grunts, trying to ignore the thoughts from his brain that are telling him to just pound into her until he reaches satisfaction.
"You feel better." Rose gasps, dragging her nails down his front, scratching the faint trail of hair on his lower abdomen. "Harder, oh god, harder, please."
Well. If she insists. He lets his instincts take over, drives into her, over and over and over, so powerfully that he pushes her slightly up the bed. Thankfully, she's tearing holes in the bedsheets instead of his skin, her back arches off the bed, changing the angle and oh fuck, no amount of football could save him now. He can feel it building, an unstoppable tidal wave that is going to drown him.
"Rosie... Rosie, oh, I can't... it's, oh shit-"
Molly's hand is suddenly sneaking in between them, pressing against Rosie, not even moving, just a light pressure, and then she's bending her mouth to hers, murmuring something that Eoin can't hear, doesn't want to hear, lets them have their moment where no one can judge them, or berate them, and then Rosie's screaming, so loudly he thinks maybe the neighbours will hear, even with Molly smothering her. Nothing can stop him then, and he releases into her, hot and sticky, over and over until he's empty and sated.
*
Rose's wearing his black sweater when Molly leaves. Make-up fixed, hair in place, she's not staying the night. He's not sure what's going through Rosie's mind right now, she's been quiet ever since Molly came out of the bathroom. But she won't say anything, never will, all three of them watch her leave without a word.
At least until the next time.