Perception (Halle/Lyle/Alle, RSA), Section 1
Index/Timeline
Sections: 1, 2
With the object lesson about fulfillment, or lack thereof, at his own hands when it comes to Halle and Alle, Lyle decides that he's not going to pursue them. They can find him, if they want him so goddamn bad. Even if he's theirs, that doesn't mean he's their bitch and he's going to start begging for it or some kind of bullshit like that.
Because he's not. Not going to search them out, and not going to beg for it.
Neil figures out something is up the first week into the waiting game, probably because Lyle is demanding sex several times a day in addition to all of the new friends--one night stands--that he meets around campus. His brother knows about those because they leave marks (Lyle demands it; he wants Halle and Alle to see them) and by the end of two weeks Neil just shakes his head at Lyle. "What's got you wound up so much?"
"I'm not doing drugs," Lyle tells him, because he's not; the absence of mind-altering substances is significant, but not something Lyle wants to think too hard about.
"You're just doing anything with a pulse instead." Neil's voice is neither happy nor sad; it's a mere statement of fact.
No use lying when Neil has the evidence in front of him. "Yep."
"Be safe," is all Neil says.
Lyle wonders if he would enjoy the waiting game as much without knowing that maybe this time, Halle and Alle would go too far. Maybe this time they'll make good on all of the violent promises inherent in their predatory grace and strength, in the way they work so flawlessly in tandem. He decides that he probably wouldn't, and just gives Neil a shit-eating grin. "Want to fuck?" Sure-fire way to derail any topic.
Neil's expression says that he knows exactly what Lyle's up to, and they'll come back to the topic later. How much later is anyone's guess, of course, and is exactly what Lyle's counting on.
◊
Halle and Alle get to him the next day. It's Alle who turns up first, waiting outside of the art class where Lyle's posing as a nude model--the money is excellent, and the exhibitionism is even better. He doesn't look at Lyle with Halle's cool calculation, but instead with his own mixture of curious interest and arousal.
"You're not busy after this, are you?" he asks cheerfully, and smiles broadly.
Such innocence. It makes Lyle want to push him, want to see what it will take to make Alle do the things Halle does without thinking. "Who wants to know?"
"Oh good." Alle's voice is positively gleeful, and his smile has an edge to it this time. He even leers a little, an activity that Lyle didn't think him capable of without some amount of pushing. "I was hoping you'd protest. Halle said I should be mean, but... that's what you want, isn't it? So, I propose this: I will be mean if you will come along quietly. If not, you're getting left here to wonder when we'll call on you again."
Huh. Lyle opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again.
Alle leans in and whispers in Lyle's ear, "Do you know the sound that bones make when they break? It's different for every bone, you know. For every type of break." Those skew-eyes look into Lyle's, unsettling without even trying. "We could show you, but only if you'll come quietly."
Lyle got hard halfway through Alle's words; by the end, he's nearly rolling his hips just for the friction. "What makes you think I don't already know?"
"Because you've never killed someone," Alle says, like it's self-evident.
Maybe it is, Lyle thinks. Maybe it's written on him, the same way it's written on Neil that Neil's killed people. "So?"
"So, the femur makes the most delicious, deep snap. Fingers are little pops. Ribs don't make much of a sound; the impact normally makes more noise." Somewhere in the middle of those words, it's not Alle talking anymore; it's Halle, who gives a feral look that makes Lyle shudder. "But you're not ready yet. Come on back, Alle. Leave him there."
No, Lyle mouths, but Alle's already gone, moving at blur nearly too fast to see. Inhuman, Lyle thinks, but not like it's a bad thing. That kind of speed in a fight could stack the deck.
He wonders how long it'll be before they find him again, as he stumbles into a unisex toilet, locks the door, and has what is probably the fastest orgasm since he started masturbating. The wake of it finds him panting, still with a burning need in him, and regretting not just going with Alle when he had a chance.
Next time, he tells himself. He's not sure if he means it or not.
◊
One moment, Lyle's behind the student center smoking a cigarette. The next, the cigarette is being ground to the inside of his elbow while a hand presses over his mouth to muffle the groan he gives. His knees go weak at the same time that his cock goes hard, and he ends up kind of slumped against the wall, on his knees.
Halle stands over him, skew-eyes staring down at Lyle. "That's a filthy fucking habit, you know."
"Not really incentive to quit, there," Lyle says, and is proud of himself that his voice doesn't shake or anything. If he tenses the muscles in his arms, a fresh wave of delicious pain wafts over him.
"Oh? So you want me to do it again?" Halle leans down and slides his hand into Lyle's right back pocket, retrieving his lighter and cigarettes.
Lyle is too spellbound to answer, enchanted by the sight of Hallelujah straightening and casually pulling out a cigarette, putting it to his lips, then lighting up. He doesn't inhale, and blows it out over his shoulder. Away from Lyle.
The cherry on the end of the cigarette glows orange as Halle takes another drag, once again not inhaling and blowing it out over his shoulder. Lyle watches soundlessly, cock throbbing with want of attention.
"Now. You see this?" He holds it vertically between thumb and forefinger, letting it get so close to Lyle's face that Lyle can feel the heat from it as Halle moves it around, letting Lyle get a good look at it from many different angles.
Halle kicks him, right in the ribs. Not hard enough to crack Lyle's ribs, just hard enough to distract him. "I see it," he says, voice a little strained.
"Good. Because you won't see it if I ever catch you lighting up again; I'm putting the next one out in your eye."
And as a sort of tease, he puts this one out on the side of Lyle's neck. Lyle at least manages to bite his lip this time, so he doesn't make quite as much of a spectacle of himself. (Small favors, he thinks, with the tiny fraction of his brain that isn't shouting oh yes please fuck me now in Halle's general direction.)
Halle straightens once more, his face shadowed as he looks down at Lyle. "Capiche?"
"Fuck me," Lyle breathes, and gets another kick to his ribs for his trouble.
"I fucking asked you if you fucking well understand what the fuck is going to happen the next fucking time you light up a fucking cigarette. Now answer, or I'll take out one of your fucking eyes now for good fucking measure. Do you understand me, cocksucker?"
It feels like Lyle's whole body throbs at the tone, the threat, the casual cursing littered all through the statement, but he knows that must be an illusion. His whole body can't throb. "Y-yes." The stutter isn't intentional. He's so turned on he can barely breathe, much less think.
"Good," Halle says, then turns and walks away.
Some good goddamn Samaritan comes over to make sure that Lyle's okay, but Lyle just waves the girl away. He's too busy pulling out his phone and dialing the guy he met last week, the one with the cock of the gods and more stamina than Lyle can shake a stick at.
Mr Cock of the Gods doesn't scratch the itch, not really, but he's better than nothing.
◊
If he expects anything--and Lyle will be honest with himself: he does expect something--Lyle thinks he expects for it to be Alle again, or maybe both of them. But what he gets the very next day is Halle, somehow in Lyle's third-floor bedroom, waking him up with one hand pressed over Lyle's mouth and the full press of his muscled bodyweight atop Lyle to constrict his breathing.
"Don't say a word, cocksucker," Halle says, low and serious, and removes his hand.
Lyle nearly asks why, but then he remembers the heat of the cigarette so close to his face and the deadly serious tone of Halle's voice when he threatened Lyle's eyes, and the searing pain of the burns. The burns that throb, thanks to Halle's knee on the inside of his elbow and Halle's thumbnail scraping across the one on his neck, dragging at but not pulling off the scab that's barely had any time to form.
The pain explodes in Lyle's mind, bright and fantastic, and as he shudders in reaction he bites down hard on his lip to keep quiet. Lichty's in the next room, and if he hears he'll go get Neil for sure, and that will be the end of the fun, which is the very last thing Lyle wants.
While one thumb scrapes back and forth, Halle's other hand goes to the button on his jeans and in short order he's pulled his cock out. As he masturbates he leans his weight on Lyle's chest, making any sort of breaths hard-won, making Lyle squirm and give these hitching little things that might have been gasps if he had enough breath.
If he'd had to guess how much pain it would be to have a fresh burn played with like that, he wouldn't have thought it would hurt that much. But it does, and the combination of breathplay and that is enough that Lyle doesn't do more than grasp at Halle's ass, holding him there as his head falls against the pillow and his eyes roll back.
"Open your mouth," Halle growls, after long enough that the edges of Lyle's vision are beginning to go a little fuzzy. It's horrible because he wants to see that sadistic look on Halle's face and he can't see it as well as he might other wise.
Halle leans up enough that Lyle can drag in enough breath (what a novel feeling) and answer: "Make me."
A hard backhand makes Lyle groan happily and then strong fingers grip his jaw between thumb and forefinger and force his jaws open. The delicious pressure of the soft skin inside his cheeks cutting open on his teeth fills his mouth with blood, and a few seconds later Halle adds the taste of semen that.
"Swallow."
Lyle's so gone that he does it, because he wants the taste in his throat and because he wants a part of Halle inside of him, since it doesn't look like Halle's going to be putting anything else inside of Lyle.
By the time he's done swallowing, Halle's got his jeans buttoned and is heading for the window again.
"H--hey!" It comes out weaker than Lyle wants, broken by pants.
For a wonder, Halle freezes at the window. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes implore for him: Say whatever dumbfuck thing you're going to say.
"Am I ever actually going to," Lyle swallows again, almost convulsively, "to be able to get off?"
Halle doesn't answer before he leaves; Lyle's head falls back against the pillow again. Bastard.
◊
Lyle makes another gamble with himself: Either Halle again, or Alle. Both of them is starting to seem increasingly unlikely.
So of course when he gets home from campus six days after Halle's visit, they're both waiting for him in the stairwell. Halle's leaning against the wall, casting a glance at the basement stair, and Alle's sitting at the foot of the flight of stairs that lead to the upper echelons, looking over his shoulder. At the same time, their gazes come together, and it's lion inside the mouse again: Halle's expression of barely-contained violence on Alle's sweet face.
"How the fuck do you do that?" Lyle asks.
All at once, they snap back into their proper expressions and Halle says, "Magic," at the same time that Alle says, "Brainwaves."
Magical brainwaves. Right. They're both crazy motherfuckers, Lyle thinks. "So, are you going to fuck me?"
Alle smiles, all delight and innocence, and Halle sneers. "If you earn it, maybe. Get your ass downstairs, now."
The way he pauses after he says the words is indication enough that he's waiting for Lyle to resist, and Lyle can't help but oblige him if he's going to give such a wide target. "What if I don't want to fuck on broken furniture?"
"Then we're going to have a problem," Halle says, and makes a motion with his hand. Alle moves all at once, fluid too-fast grace, and jerks him toward the stairs so hard that it rips the collar of Lyle's t-shirt. Lyle leans back, away from the direction he's being pulled, and Halle's hand comes down hard on Lyle's ass.
Delicious sting makes Lyle misstep enough that it gives Alle leverage to drag Lyle down the stairs. Once he starts, there's no stopping until they're at the bottom and Lyle is pinned against the wall--air knocked out of his lungs by the impact--and being kissed.
Alle's kisses are sweet, almost tentative, and the sound of Halle coming down the stairs after them is dark and ominous, a cloud over the both of them that makes Lyle shiver. Alle shivers too, and they break the kiss, and there's just enough light to see the hunger in Alle's eyes too, the need for what only Halle can give.
Halle doesn't touch either of them once he's down the stairs, though. He goes off to the right and there's a click, and now Alle's features are awash with light from the bare bulb. It's old and the light it casts is yellow, making their olive skin look sallow, but that doesn't do a damn thing to damper Lyle's arousal.
"What--" he starts, and Alle's hand comes up and presses over his windpipe. Alle's smile is feral, but it is his own; he's doing this because he wants to, not because Halle's controlling him with magical brainwaves.
"Over here," Halle calls, and Alle pushes Lyle away from the wall with nothing but that hand gripping hard enough that there's going to be bruises tomorrow. It'll be fun to explain that to his life drawing class, but if they're not used to his frequent bruises at this point then they never will be.
Alle deposits Lyle in the remains of a loveseat, and Halle's standing there with a leg from the dining room chairs from two years ago in his hand. Its end is ragged and looks wonderfully nasty in the light, the cherry color of the wood suggestive of blood. They were a lucky find at a thrift store, Lyle remembers, right up until Lasse and Lichty got stinking drunk and tried doing some fucking thing with them and broke both.
"Now," Halle says, and grins. "I can beat you and you can blow Alle, or Alle can beat you and you can blow me. Choose."
Nothing in Halle's voice, stance, or expression gives away which option he prefers, so Lyle goes for the one he hasn't done yet: "I'll blow you."
Alle looks positively delighted by this, and before he takes the chair leg from Halle he lets Halle draw him into a kiss. Lyle's always had a bit of a thing for the whole mirror dynamic, so by the time the kiss breaks and Alle's holding the chair leg he's hard as hell.
Halle smirks. "You're easy to turn on, aren't you, cocksucker?"
Lyle licks his lips, slow and sexy. No use denying it, but... "Maybe you're just good at it."
Smoothly, Halle steps back at the same time that Alle steps forward and swings the chair leg right into Lyle's forearm. It's not a hard enough hit to break his bones, just hard enough to grind them together and make lush pain spiral through his senses.
While Halle's busy taking off his jeans, nothing underneath, Alle proves that he knows how to give just as well as he knows how to take. The hits aren't harder than Lyle can stand--broken bones seem like a fond wish rather than an undesirable outcome--and they're placed evenly, not too concentrated, but not so gentle that Lyle's left yawning.
Then Alle steps back and Halle steps forward and there's metal gleaming in his hand. He cuts Lyle's shirt off, reducing it to ribbons, one of which he ties around Lyle's eyes for a blindfold and others that he uses to tie Lyle's hands together on top of his head.
It'll certainly make the blowjob a fucking challenge, but Lyle doesn't mind, and especially doesn't mind when Alle brings the chair leg down right on top of Lyle's kidneys. He groans at the feeling, the red tinge that's taking over his senses.
All at once the smell of male arousal is strong, and he opens his mouth for Halle's cock. Halle's not gentle with it, and uses it in the best way possible all at once: tilting Lyle's head back and shoving every bit down his throat.
The sudden bloom of pain on his thigh makes him groan around Halle's considerable member, but Halle is merciless and so is Alle. Every time Halle's got his cock as far as it'll go down Lyle's throat, Alle hits in a particularly sensitive area, or stops to rake the sharp ends down Lyle's chest, or grind the splinters into his armpit, or even once brush so teasingly over Lyle's erection, trapped as it is in his pants.
Alle's not as brutal as Lyle thinks that Hallelujah can be, but with the way Halle's fucking his throat he's glad for it; the last thing he wants to do is bite down too hard. Just enough is good, enough to make Halle shove it deeper, cut off his air more thoroughly.
Lyle loses himself in the pain and the breathplay, willingly giving himself over to their capable hands and finding himself--when Halle finally comes all over Lyle's face--to be on the edge of orgasm, if only they'd touch him there.
But they know it. They can smell it. There are words, but Lyle can't really follow them. He's pleasantly lost in the haze.
"Beg," someone says, with Halle's inflection.
"No," Lyle breathes, and the chair leg comes down on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He claws his hands together, struggling to draw in more breath, panting.
Someone's hand tangles in his hair and pulls his head back and Alle says, "He's not ready yet."
Whatever Halle says, the words are lost in the rush of arousal and disappointment and no, no, please that he still doesn't have the breath to give voice to. They leave him there, gasping, face covered in semen, still tied and blindfolded and bleeding and hard.
Neil is the one who finds him, long enough that his sweat has cooled and the blood has clotted and his erection is mostly gone.
"Dear God," Neil breathes, and there are hands on him untying his hands, untying the blindfold.
Lyle can't do anything but beg: "Fuck me."
Neil obliges, because Neil always obliges, but afterward in the bathroom with the first aid kit, he demands an explanation and Lyle, still flooded with endorphins from the scene and the fucking Neil gave him, actually answers: "I met someone. Two someones."
"Ah," is all Neil says, but there's a level of understanding to that one syllable that Lyle is so grateful for he could cry.
◊
The next few times Lyle thinks about smoking, he remembers Halle. He remembers the heat of the cigarette near his face, and the coldness of the fear surging through his veins at the idea that he might lose his eyes.
There's no way to tell if Halle's serious or not, not without giving it a try, and it takes him a while to work up the balls to try. It's two weeks after they cornered him in the basement, long enough that the burns are fading to scars and the cuts on his chest are fading as well, no longer fresh wounds to be opened by twisting the wrong way or something equally unexciting.
Lasse works at a building downtown and Lyle follows him to work one day, letting himself in behind Lasse with only a bare look from his roommate, and goes straight up to the roof.
It takes him a little while to work up to it, once he's on the roof. He has the cigarettes in one pocket and the lighter in the other, like keeping them separate will make it easier to resist, and he's past the initial nicotine cravings but he still wants a cigarette so badly he can taste it.
He pulls one out with shaking fingers and places it between his lips. Three tries before the lighter will light--poor Zippo doesn't like not getting used--but after that he has it, the sweet relief flooding through him as he inhales.
Lyle's hard, too, but that's probably just a by-product of thinking about Halle's promise. Halle's threat.
He manages to get halfway through the cigarette before he gets too afraid to continue, before he psychs himself up so much that he has to put the damn thing out.
"Good choice," a voice says from behind him, Halle's voice, and Lyle freezes all over.
Halle's panting a little, chest rising and falling a little bit more harshly than is strictly normal. He leans over Lyle and picks up the discarded cigarette butt. He holds it between thumb and forefinger for a moment, distaste plain on his face, and then crushes it in the palm of his hand. It's a ball of tobacco and filter and paper when he opens his hand again.
"Eat it," is all Halle says, but not like it's exciting. Not like this is anything he enjoys. Just a chore to be done.
Lyle swallows hard. Eat it? That's better than getting his eye taken out just because Halle's a psycho but... "Why?"
A slap, the crack of flesh on flesh ringing over the barren rooftop. Halle kneels next to Lyle and holds the ball between thumb and forefinger, directly in front of Lyle's face. "Because I told you to." His voice is low and dangerous, threatening without words.
Same reasoning he gave Alle. Interesting. Lyle opens his mouth and shuts his eyes tightly.
It tastes pretty rancid, but Lyle has no trouble swallowing huge pills so the remains of the cigarette are no problem--aside from the noxious taste of the cigarette itself. He wishes fervently for something to wash it down, but knows without asking that he won't get it.
"Good. Now, if I ever catch you smoking again, I really fucking will make good on my promise, no matter whether you've already put it out or not. We green?"
"Super green," Lyle mumbles.
Halle grins, the kind of grin that is all angles and malice and barely contained violence. "I guess you're expecting some kind of beating for following orders, then, aren't you?"
Lyle licks his lips. Maybe he is, a little. But it is, "Hoping for, not expecting."
"Good," Halle says, and in the next breath kicks Lyle right in the face. Lyle gasps as the pain explodes through his cheek, and Halle fists his hand in Lyle's hair, drawing his head back, licking at the blood that comes from the new cut on his cheek. "That's all you get for now. Just remember: I'm always here, even if you don't fucking see me."
Lyle will keep that in mind for the future, he thinks, as he watches Halle walk toward the door to the stairwell.
◊
Most of the rest of that day is spent feeling nauseous and generally like shit. Lyle keeps sticking his finger down his throat, but his gag reflex won't cooperate and he just can't make himself throw up. If only, he thinks, again and again.
A little research on the Internet shows that it is, in fact, the cigarette making him feel this way; apparently as little as two, when eaten, can kill a person. The fact that he's not dead does not at this juncture make him feel any better.
It's a damn good thing that today is Neil's long day at school, and then his NA meeting, because if he comes home and finds Lyle's face black and blue while he's sitting miserably in the bathroom waiting to throw up Neil will probably blow a gasket and do something silly like demand to know who his mystery tormentors are and that would just be... unpleasant.
More unpleasant than this, Lyle thinks, and half an hour before it's time for Neil to come home takes a bucket with him up to his room. Lichty forces a water bottle on him, too, saying how he needs to keep his fluids up if he's planning on puking. He doesn't sleep, but the nausea does slowly abate the more water he drinks and the more time that passes.
The taste of the ash and tobacco and the bitterness that must be the paper or the filter never quite leaves the back of Lyle's throat. He dreams of cleaning ashtrays with his tongue, and Halle forcing him to eat every cigarette butt he finds.
◊
Alle shows up the following morning. Lyle's meant to be going to school in half an hour, but the second he opens the door and sees Allelujah's benevolent smile he decides that those plans are right out.
"My roommates aren't home," Lyle says, instead of Hello, because saying hello to his stalkers doesn't seem quite right.
"I know." Alle steps in without being invited; some hysterical part of Lyle's brain thinks, At least he's not a vampire, but the thought is there and gone before Lyle can even start to giggle. "They won't be back for two and a half hours."
Wow, that is... meticulous. Lyle blinks a couple times and shakes his head, although not at Alle's words. "You two really got it down to a fine art."
Alle shrugs. "We don't have much to do during the day. You're our new project."
Simultaneously there are two things swirling around Lyle's mind: glee at having the full attention of two smoking hot guys and a vague sort of fear of the very same thing. He has always been acutely aware of the danger inherent in their attention, though, so that is nothing new.
"So, bedroom or basement?" Alle asks, with another of his adorable smiles.
Lyle prefers to not clean up blood afterward, so he chooses the basement as the scene for... whatever it is that Alle is going to do.
He wonders absently which Alle he's going to get: the one that hurts or the one that soothes. Both would be nice, actually, he decides as he follows Alle down the stairs. The bare bulb once again provides all the light that they need, and Alle sits down on the couch (the one that got torn up the last time that Neil lost it) fully clothed.
Alle sits with his legs slightly apart, his arms spread across the back of the couch, and a come-hither look that would put girls in every porno Lyle's ever seen to shame. Still, he can't help staying back, just looking at Alle, danger's twin in repose.
Without a word, Alle reaches into his pocket and pulls out something. It's terribly small, but Lyle realizes after a moment that it's one of those single-use packs of flavored lube. It's red, like blood.
There are so many implications inherent in the simple gesture that it boggles Lyle's mind, and makes him respect Alle without even meaning to. (Lyle's respect is something to be earned after a long and arduous battle, not won easily by a boy with a handful of lubricant, damn it all.)
Lyle walks over to him and takes the tube of lubricant, holding it gingerly in his mouth as he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons and unzips his jeans. They are loose and cascade to the dusty concrete floor now they have nothing holding them to Lyle's waist, and he toes off his sneakers before stepping out of his jeans and taking the lubricant with his hand.
His boxer-briefs are like a second skin, and do nothing to hide the fact that his cock is rapidly hardening. Casually he reaches down and adjusts himself, and Allelujah breaks out in a grin. "I bet Halle that you could get hard on implications alone," he says, and splays a hand over Lyle's chest, where the almost-healed scratches from last time are beneath Lyle's shirt. "Looks like I won."
There's probably some sort of response to that which doesn't involve the words smug bastard, but Lyle can't think of it at the moment, so he says what he can think of. "I guess you think winning a bet against him gives you a right to be a smug bastard."
Alle laughs at him, light and careless. "No. I think getting you hard on implications alone gives me the right to be a smug bastard."
Point, Lyle thinks. "So how are we going to do this?"
"Well, first you're going to stand on the couch and fuck my mouth, and I'm going to finger you while you do that. After that... mmm, only one place it can go, really." And his grin is lewd now, daring Lyle to contradict his plans.
"Am I going to get off?" Lyle cannot resist asking; he's beginning to feel wound tight as a top by these two.
Alle laughs again, which is answer enough. One of these days, Lyle is just going to start begging, but he's not quite there yet so instead of begging he climbs up onto the couch and rubs his cock on Alle's face.
This time Alle's laugh is different, kind of a low chuckle that raises goosebumps on Lyle's arms, but he does exactly what he promised he would and takes Lyle's cock into his mouth. His hands come around, clutching Lyle's ass, and Lyle nearly overbalances and bends over to grasp the back of the couch so he won't fall over. By the time he has a good grip, his cock is halfway down Allelujah's throat, as far as it will go, and he's groaning at the feeling, lubricant clenched in his free hand.
"Exactly--" he starts, cuts off into another groan, and licks his lips and tries again. "Exactly what part of this is me being fingered while you blow me?"
As is only reasonable, Alle pulls away from Lyle's cock to answer with his own question, delivered with a kind of edge like a knife: "Is that a complaint?"
"Yes," Lyle says, and for the word, he ends up with Allelujah's fingers digging deliciously into his ass. Deeper and deeper, but not quite enough to draw blood, and by that point Lyle can feel his lips pressed against the length of Lyle's cock, smiling. Smirking, possibly, but Alle's never seemed quite as smug as Halle.
"Give me that," Alle mutters seconds later, and his fingernails rake over the back of Lyle's hand, which is clutching the lubricant just as tightly as he's clutching the couch, albeit with different hands.
Lyle gives up the lubricant easily; Alle rips it open with his teeth and the sickly-sweet fake smell of cherries is suddenly in the air, mixing with the smells of cock and saliva. If not for the sight of that gorgeous viscous redness on Alle's fingers, Lyle might complain, but as it is the sight makes his cock twitch so he keeps his mouth shut. For now.
Standing as he is with his legs on either side, wider to support him better, it's easy for Alle's slick fingers to slide into the cleft of his ass and tease his hole. At the same time, Alle's mouth closes around Lyle's cock again.
He remembers his part of this whole deal, and as soon as he's sure he's not going to get bitten down on Lyle shoves his cock down Allelujah's throat. Alle makes a sound, choked, but not a sound like he wants anything to stop. His fingers in Lyle's ass certainly don't stop, two sliding in maybe a little faster than Lyle would really want but Alle's guessed well: Lyle likes the burn of getting stretched too fast.
"Fuck," Lyle breathes, to no one in particular, and straightens up. He's tall enough to reach the ceiling, and braces himself on that with one hand and by way of the back of Alle's neck with the other. His fingernails dig in and scrape a little, but he's fairly sure Allelujah doesn't mind because at that point he's taking his frustration these past weeks out on Alle's mouth.
Alle doesn't complain, doesn't push Lyle away. What he does do is continue that delicious fingering, those long digits burying themselves in his ass and pulling out again at least halfway in time with the thrusts into and out of Alle's mouth.
Although they don't rest when Lyle gives Alle half a minute of breathing space, and Alle is not so very much like Lyle after all: he doesn't do things to earn further mouth-fucking before Lyle's ready. Whether that's his nature or him not wanting Lyle to come, Lyle doesn't know, and he thinks as he begins to feel the heat curling and mounting in the pit of his stomach about not saying anything and just keeping it up until he does come.
But somehow Allelujah figures it out, and about forty-five seconds before Lyle would come, pulls his fingers out and in a move that shows strength Lyle wouldn't have credited him with, pulls away from Lyle's grasp neat and easy as you please. He's looking more rather than less aroused, pupils blown and mouth all swollen from the blowjob.
Delicious, Lyle thinks, and settles into a crouch so that he can kiss those swollen lips. Alle kisses back with fervor, although he doesn't try to lead the kiss; he lets Lyle have control without being passive.
More lessons from Halle, no doubt.
"Did you guess lucky, or did you know I was about to come?" Lyle asks, when the kiss breaks and Alle is busy panting against Lyle's mouth, eyes half-open.
"Smelled it." Alle takes a deep breath, sighs it out, and wriggles under Lyle. "Take my jeans off; time for you to ride me."
That, Lyle thinks, is a most excellent idea, so he hastens to obey and in short order has Alle's jeans and panties--and that's something he'll have to ask about, later, if he gets a chance--off and is once more crouching above Alle's lap. He wonders how Alle would take being teased, but before he has a chance to find out Alle's hands are on his hips, guiding him down; Lyle reaches between his legs to hold Alle's cock in place as he slides onto it.
They both moan at the feeling, Alle lowly and Lyle in this high kind of whine that he wouldn't have thought himself capable of. If it weren't for Alle fucking smelling the orgasm on him, he has a feeling he'd be silly enough to hope absently for one. But he's not even far enough gone to be that stupid. Not yet; if they keep at it they can probably work him there, though.
"So nice," Alle sighs, and puts his head back, wide smile on his lips.
Lyle stays still just to see if he can eke out some kind of punishment for inaction, but Alle doesn't hit him. What he does do is make this growly sort of sound in his throat, frustration or whatever else, Lyle's not sure, but it's delicious and he wants to hear it again. So he gives Allelujah a couple strokes, down and up and back down again, then grinding, then back up, where he pauses.
This time Alle laughs delightedly and pushes up into Lyle like it's not any kind of problem for him. With abs like his, Lyle doesn't imagine it is, and stays where he is. That kind of strength is a kind that he can really fucking appreciate.
Eventually, Alle slows down, but those strokes are deeper, and on the upstroke of one he grabs Lyle's hips and holds on and rolls his hips, and Lyle's eyes just about roll back in his head. For his part, Alle's panting, color high in his cheeks.
Lyle can't help but wonder exactly how much Alle gets out of his mouth being fucked, to be this close already, but doesn't dare ask because the last fucking thing he wants is for this sex to be derailed. If Alle gets into it enough, maybe he'll slip up and Lyle will get an orgasm out of the deal, too. He can feel the heat in the pit of his stomach coiling up again, tighter and tighter.
And then Alle stops. Just stops, and moans, head back, long line of his neck exposed. Lyle bites it, because he wants to and because Alle is coming anyway, and Alle pretty much convulses under him and makes this broken sound that is like every wet dream Lyle's ever had.
Alle collapses back against the couch after that, and Lyle sits on his lap, enjoying the feel of Alle's erection softening against the inside of his leg. Eventually, he seems to come around a little, making more little sounds and touching Lyle's face and pulling Lyle into a kiss.
"Good?" Lyle asks, because he wants to hear it.
"You have to ask?" He laughs, a light sound that descends into a deeper, darker place when Lyle's teeth sink into his neck. "Yes, it was good."
"Tell Halle I enjoyed it."
All at once Alle freezes, and Lyle thinks: Halle doesn't know Alle's here. Or at the very least, Halle didn't give Alle permission to do this. Interesting, to finally have proof that they don't think and act with a single brain; Lyle was beginning to doubt.
"Or not," Lyle says, so Alle will know what kind of answer his non-answer was.
Alle rolls his eyes. "He'll find out, one way or another. It was just that he didn't send me specifically."
Right, Lyle thinks, but lets Alle get away with it. "Time for you to go, then?"
It is, so Lyle sits on the couch and watches him get dressed--he feels enough like he's gotten in payback that he doesn't ask about the panties--and kisses back when Alle stops for a goodbye kiss before he leaves.
At least the encounters are getting more satisfying, Lyle figures. One way or another.
◊
At first Lyle thinks it's like a mirage of some sort.
He can't possibly be seeing Allelujah standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he waits in line at the grocery store. Surely sociopaths don't eat?
Then he thinks: it's a trap. It's been two days now and Halle's waiting somewhere; the second he goes over to Alle he'll have his foot in the snare and there'll be no getting away. Not that I want to get away, he amends, it's just that it's too goddamn good to be true.
Before Lyle can get up the balls to say anything, Alle's chin comes up sharply and he turns around halfway and his eyes find Lyle unerringly. No looking around, just straight to him.
And he's not even wearing cologne today. Maybe he should try that; might throw the bloodhounds off a little bit. Still, Lyle's smiling, and walking toward Alle, who's looking at him like he's expecting as much. The guy behind Alle in line looks like he wants to say something, but when Alle leans over and gives Lyle a kiss on the lips he reconsiders it and studies his shoes like they're holding all the answers.
"Halle's not around," Alle says, before Lyle can ask.
He's sporting a black eye, and Lyle wonders if that's related, but decides that discretion is the better part of valor and doesn't even think about inquiring as to the reason Halle's fist took a disliking to Alle's face. "I--"
"You were going to ask." Alle's tone dares him to nay-say him, and Lyle would except Alle starts speaking again before he gets a chance. "So, we can drop everything and go back to your place and fuck like rabbits, or you can risk his anger in twenty minutes when he shows up to make sure I haven't fallen down a hole."
The guy behind them clears his throat, like it'll do him any good, and Lyle ignores him. "I think I'll take the fuck like rabbits option."
"Excellent choice," Alle says, like he's flirting, like they're not already going to be fucking for sure. "Neil will be home, but he's probably itching to meet us at this point, isn't he?"
Neil was just asking yesterday when he might get to meet Lyle's new boyfriends. (Lyle corrected him that they weren't his boyfriends, and Neil rolled his eyes, but that's neither here nor there.) "Yep. He should be in his room studying."
The two of them leave their baskets next to the magazine rack and walk out. They'll be back for them--or they won't. It doesn't matter, really. What does matter is getting back down to the basement post-haste, and they are taking care of that, so the world is going fine in Lyle's opinion.
They chat on the walk home about Lyle's career as a amateur model for life drawing classes--Alle works at a strip club, apparently--but the second they're through the door they drop conversation in favor of sticking their tongues down each other's throats. Alle jumps up, arms around Lyle's neck, and wraps both legs around Lyle's waist, leaving no doubt as to who will be doing what this encounter, not with the way he's grinding his ass down against Lyle's cock.
"Do... do I get to come this time?" Lyle asks, pants, between kisses, halfway down the basement stairs.
"No," Alle says quickly, and captures Lyle's lips again.
Lyle can't resist asking "Do I ever... ever get to-- to come?" the next time they break apart for want of air, this time when he's pressing Alle down against the uneven couch cushions.
"Eventually." Alle makes a whiny noise in his throat and unbuttons and unzips his jeans in one smooth movement and forces Lyle's hand inside.
When he touches lace, Lyle can't help a smile. "What's with you and panties? Do you always wear them?"
"Yes." Alle doesn't even blush about it, just arches into Lyle's touch and moans. "They're-- I-- humiliation. Also, they feel nice."
Apparently. "I wouldn't think there's room for, y'know, all your parts."
"There's not, always." Alle grins. "That's part of the draw."
Lyle thinks maybe he's beginning to understand, just a little. He leans back and pulls down Alle's jeans, leaving his panties on. Lube tumbles out of the back pocket as he does, and Lyle nearly laughs with delight. "You actually carry lubricant around with you?"
"Hell, yes. Better than walking funny when Halle forgets to carry his."
Huh. Lyle supposes that answers any questions he might have had about Halle's sex drive, and splitting it between two people. Then again, Alle's sex drive seems to match. "You two fuck, like, all the goddamn time, don't you?"
"Mmm. You going to fuck me, or waste time talking?"
"Shouldn't I finger you first?" Lyle asks, to be polite, because he shouldn't just go ahead and assume that Alle and Halle just fucked when he doesn't know them that well. Yet.
Alle's grin says that Lyle knows better than to be polite, and those sort of assumptions are the best kind and thus completely okay. "You really don't want to come, by the way. Halle will lose interest if he's not the one to rip it out of you."
"Good to know," Lyle says, as Alle rolls over on the couch and comes up onto his hands and knees.
A low hum is all he receives in return, and a wriggle of that delicious ass. It's not huge but not flat, just round enough to get a good grip on. Lyle unzips his jeans and pulls down his boxers enough to drag his cock out; when he presses the head in the cleft of Alle's ass, it's slick.
Even so Alle gasps, so Lyle grabs the lube and slicks it down his cock and in the next movement pushes inside. They both groan at the feeling, and Alle pushes back against Lyle, and Lyle's heart is beating fit to go straight through his chest.
"Slow down," Lyle murmurs, gently. Pets a hand down Alle's back.
"Can't," Alle returns, and fucks himself back onto Lyle's cock, so desperate that it makes Lyle want to rethink this whole not coming because Halle will lose interest thing. "Halle's coming."
Oh fuck. Lyle's hips snap forward and back at a feverish pace, almost without his consent. He can see Alle's eagerness written in every line of his body, see the need to come before Halle gets here in the way he grips the couch, the desperate way he pushes back against every thrust, and the whiny sounds he makes in his throat.
It's gorgeous, and probably the quickest sex Lyle's ever had from start to finish. He doesn't come, but only just barely; the feeling of Alle clenching around him nearly drives him right over the edge, and then there's the way Alle's back arches and that moan he gives.
"Holy fuck," Lyle breathes, leaning over Alle's body, touching his chest, his shoulders, his face. Kissing the back of his neck. "Did we make it?"
Alle sighs, and whimpers, and wriggles, but says nothing. And doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry to get anywhere. Although--not like he's going to be able to hide the obvious evidence from Halle's nose, so there's not much point in that.
"How close is he?" Lyle tries a minute or so later, when Alle's breathing evens out.
"I lied." Alle sighs again and rolls over, and pulls Lyle down into a kiss. "You'll forgive me, though."
Lyle wants to be angry, just for that, but finds that all that comes out is this nervous sort of laugh. It's just beginning to dawn on him what kind of game these two are playing, and that Lyle is just another piece in their play.
Well, fuck that. He's more than a fucking piece to be used the way they want. Lyle uses a dirty towel draped over the back of the couch to wipe off his cock and stands up, and in a smooth movement pulls Alle up off of the couch too. "Put your pants on; we're going upstairs."
Alle does what he's told, meek as a lamb. No comment, no complaint, no looks. Just obedience.
"You're so easy, you know that?" Lyle says on the way up the stairs. Through the kitchen and the living room, they stop outside of Neil's door. "Knock."
Once again Alle does what he's told, raising his fist and rapping three times on the door, not too sharply and not too soft. Right in the middle, the sweet spot.
"What?" Neil calls, tone aggravated. "I'm in the middle of putting together a fucking bibliography."
Neil's least favorite part of writing research papers; he won't mind being interrupted, then. Lyle turns the knob and walks in, pulling Alle after him like a pet, or maybe a prize. Neil turns in his chair, mouth open to say something, but no words escape and Lyle can just watch him taking in Alle's disheveled appearance and the smell of sex clinging to both of them.
"So this is one of your new boyfriends?" Neil asks, and tilts his head, slow smile spreading over his lips.
Alle looks at Lyle, and the narrowing of his eyes says, Not boyfriends. Lyle just grins at him, like he has no idea what that glare is for. "Alle, this is my brother Neil. Neil, this is Alle." He's not quite ready to pop the full name on Neil, as it's unlikely that either of them will live it down.
Neil is a gentleman and stands, offering a hand to Alle. Who looks at it like it might bite him, and then puts his hand out and they shake. Allelujah's shake doesn't look limp, but it's not harsh either; he doesn't grip Neil's hand in a way that makes Neil react uncomfortably. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Neil murmurs, and sits back down without ceremony. "So is it you leaving Lyle all cut up, or the other one?" Because you, Neil's expression says, don't look fit to hurt a fly.
"Both." Alle's feral grin is less frightening than Halle's feral grin, but it's still enough to make Neil shift and look at the ground.
Lyle feels immensely pleased with himself, even as they say their goodbyes and file back out of Neil's room. Alle didn't expect this; he's gotten one up on them. For now.
Next section (2)
Sections: 1, 2
With the object lesson about fulfillment, or lack thereof, at his own hands when it comes to Halle and Alle, Lyle decides that he's not going to pursue them. They can find him, if they want him so goddamn bad. Even if he's theirs, that doesn't mean he's their bitch and he's going to start begging for it or some kind of bullshit like that.
Because he's not. Not going to search them out, and not going to beg for it.
Neil figures out something is up the first week into the waiting game, probably because Lyle is demanding sex several times a day in addition to all of the new friends--one night stands--that he meets around campus. His brother knows about those because they leave marks (Lyle demands it; he wants Halle and Alle to see them) and by the end of two weeks Neil just shakes his head at Lyle. "What's got you wound up so much?"
"I'm not doing drugs," Lyle tells him, because he's not; the absence of mind-altering substances is significant, but not something Lyle wants to think too hard about.
"You're just doing anything with a pulse instead." Neil's voice is neither happy nor sad; it's a mere statement of fact.
No use lying when Neil has the evidence in front of him. "Yep."
"Be safe," is all Neil says.
Lyle wonders if he would enjoy the waiting game as much without knowing that maybe this time, Halle and Alle would go too far. Maybe this time they'll make good on all of the violent promises inherent in their predatory grace and strength, in the way they work so flawlessly in tandem. He decides that he probably wouldn't, and just gives Neil a shit-eating grin. "Want to fuck?" Sure-fire way to derail any topic.
Neil's expression says that he knows exactly what Lyle's up to, and they'll come back to the topic later. How much later is anyone's guess, of course, and is exactly what Lyle's counting on.
◊
Halle and Alle get to him the next day. It's Alle who turns up first, waiting outside of the art class where Lyle's posing as a nude model--the money is excellent, and the exhibitionism is even better. He doesn't look at Lyle with Halle's cool calculation, but instead with his own mixture of curious interest and arousal.
"You're not busy after this, are you?" he asks cheerfully, and smiles broadly.
Such innocence. It makes Lyle want to push him, want to see what it will take to make Alle do the things Halle does without thinking. "Who wants to know?"
"Oh good." Alle's voice is positively gleeful, and his smile has an edge to it this time. He even leers a little, an activity that Lyle didn't think him capable of without some amount of pushing. "I was hoping you'd protest. Halle said I should be mean, but... that's what you want, isn't it? So, I propose this: I will be mean if you will come along quietly. If not, you're getting left here to wonder when we'll call on you again."
Huh. Lyle opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again.
Alle leans in and whispers in Lyle's ear, "Do you know the sound that bones make when they break? It's different for every bone, you know. For every type of break." Those skew-eyes look into Lyle's, unsettling without even trying. "We could show you, but only if you'll come quietly."
Lyle got hard halfway through Alle's words; by the end, he's nearly rolling his hips just for the friction. "What makes you think I don't already know?"
"Because you've never killed someone," Alle says, like it's self-evident.
Maybe it is, Lyle thinks. Maybe it's written on him, the same way it's written on Neil that Neil's killed people. "So?"
"So, the femur makes the most delicious, deep snap. Fingers are little pops. Ribs don't make much of a sound; the impact normally makes more noise." Somewhere in the middle of those words, it's not Alle talking anymore; it's Halle, who gives a feral look that makes Lyle shudder. "But you're not ready yet. Come on back, Alle. Leave him there."
No, Lyle mouths, but Alle's already gone, moving at blur nearly too fast to see. Inhuman, Lyle thinks, but not like it's a bad thing. That kind of speed in a fight could stack the deck.
He wonders how long it'll be before they find him again, as he stumbles into a unisex toilet, locks the door, and has what is probably the fastest orgasm since he started masturbating. The wake of it finds him panting, still with a burning need in him, and regretting not just going with Alle when he had a chance.
Next time, he tells himself. He's not sure if he means it or not.
◊
One moment, Lyle's behind the student center smoking a cigarette. The next, the cigarette is being ground to the inside of his elbow while a hand presses over his mouth to muffle the groan he gives. His knees go weak at the same time that his cock goes hard, and he ends up kind of slumped against the wall, on his knees.
Halle stands over him, skew-eyes staring down at Lyle. "That's a filthy fucking habit, you know."
"Not really incentive to quit, there," Lyle says, and is proud of himself that his voice doesn't shake or anything. If he tenses the muscles in his arms, a fresh wave of delicious pain wafts over him.
"Oh? So you want me to do it again?" Halle leans down and slides his hand into Lyle's right back pocket, retrieving his lighter and cigarettes.
Lyle is too spellbound to answer, enchanted by the sight of Hallelujah straightening and casually pulling out a cigarette, putting it to his lips, then lighting up. He doesn't inhale, and blows it out over his shoulder. Away from Lyle.
The cherry on the end of the cigarette glows orange as Halle takes another drag, once again not inhaling and blowing it out over his shoulder. Lyle watches soundlessly, cock throbbing with want of attention.
"Now. You see this?" He holds it vertically between thumb and forefinger, letting it get so close to Lyle's face that Lyle can feel the heat from it as Halle moves it around, letting Lyle get a good look at it from many different angles.
Halle kicks him, right in the ribs. Not hard enough to crack Lyle's ribs, just hard enough to distract him. "I see it," he says, voice a little strained.
"Good. Because you won't see it if I ever catch you lighting up again; I'm putting the next one out in your eye."
And as a sort of tease, he puts this one out on the side of Lyle's neck. Lyle at least manages to bite his lip this time, so he doesn't make quite as much of a spectacle of himself. (Small favors, he thinks, with the tiny fraction of his brain that isn't shouting oh yes please fuck me now in Halle's general direction.)
Halle straightens once more, his face shadowed as he looks down at Lyle. "Capiche?"
"Fuck me," Lyle breathes, and gets another kick to his ribs for his trouble.
"I fucking asked you if you fucking well understand what the fuck is going to happen the next fucking time you light up a fucking cigarette. Now answer, or I'll take out one of your fucking eyes now for good fucking measure. Do you understand me, cocksucker?"
It feels like Lyle's whole body throbs at the tone, the threat, the casual cursing littered all through the statement, but he knows that must be an illusion. His whole body can't throb. "Y-yes." The stutter isn't intentional. He's so turned on he can barely breathe, much less think.
"Good," Halle says, then turns and walks away.
Some good goddamn Samaritan comes over to make sure that Lyle's okay, but Lyle just waves the girl away. He's too busy pulling out his phone and dialing the guy he met last week, the one with the cock of the gods and more stamina than Lyle can shake a stick at.
Mr Cock of the Gods doesn't scratch the itch, not really, but he's better than nothing.
◊
If he expects anything--and Lyle will be honest with himself: he does expect something--Lyle thinks he expects for it to be Alle again, or maybe both of them. But what he gets the very next day is Halle, somehow in Lyle's third-floor bedroom, waking him up with one hand pressed over Lyle's mouth and the full press of his muscled bodyweight atop Lyle to constrict his breathing.
"Don't say a word, cocksucker," Halle says, low and serious, and removes his hand.
Lyle nearly asks why, but then he remembers the heat of the cigarette so close to his face and the deadly serious tone of Halle's voice when he threatened Lyle's eyes, and the searing pain of the burns. The burns that throb, thanks to Halle's knee on the inside of his elbow and Halle's thumbnail scraping across the one on his neck, dragging at but not pulling off the scab that's barely had any time to form.
The pain explodes in Lyle's mind, bright and fantastic, and as he shudders in reaction he bites down hard on his lip to keep quiet. Lichty's in the next room, and if he hears he'll go get Neil for sure, and that will be the end of the fun, which is the very last thing Lyle wants.
While one thumb scrapes back and forth, Halle's other hand goes to the button on his jeans and in short order he's pulled his cock out. As he masturbates he leans his weight on Lyle's chest, making any sort of breaths hard-won, making Lyle squirm and give these hitching little things that might have been gasps if he had enough breath.
If he'd had to guess how much pain it would be to have a fresh burn played with like that, he wouldn't have thought it would hurt that much. But it does, and the combination of breathplay and that is enough that Lyle doesn't do more than grasp at Halle's ass, holding him there as his head falls against the pillow and his eyes roll back.
"Open your mouth," Halle growls, after long enough that the edges of Lyle's vision are beginning to go a little fuzzy. It's horrible because he wants to see that sadistic look on Halle's face and he can't see it as well as he might other wise.
Halle leans up enough that Lyle can drag in enough breath (what a novel feeling) and answer: "Make me."
A hard backhand makes Lyle groan happily and then strong fingers grip his jaw between thumb and forefinger and force his jaws open. The delicious pressure of the soft skin inside his cheeks cutting open on his teeth fills his mouth with blood, and a few seconds later Halle adds the taste of semen that.
"Swallow."
Lyle's so gone that he does it, because he wants the taste in his throat and because he wants a part of Halle inside of him, since it doesn't look like Halle's going to be putting anything else inside of Lyle.
By the time he's done swallowing, Halle's got his jeans buttoned and is heading for the window again.
"H--hey!" It comes out weaker than Lyle wants, broken by pants.
For a wonder, Halle freezes at the window. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes implore for him: Say whatever dumbfuck thing you're going to say.
"Am I ever actually going to," Lyle swallows again, almost convulsively, "to be able to get off?"
Halle doesn't answer before he leaves; Lyle's head falls back against the pillow again. Bastard.
◊
Lyle makes another gamble with himself: Either Halle again, or Alle. Both of them is starting to seem increasingly unlikely.
So of course when he gets home from campus six days after Halle's visit, they're both waiting for him in the stairwell. Halle's leaning against the wall, casting a glance at the basement stair, and Alle's sitting at the foot of the flight of stairs that lead to the upper echelons, looking over his shoulder. At the same time, their gazes come together, and it's lion inside the mouse again: Halle's expression of barely-contained violence on Alle's sweet face.
"How the fuck do you do that?" Lyle asks.
All at once, they snap back into their proper expressions and Halle says, "Magic," at the same time that Alle says, "Brainwaves."
Magical brainwaves. Right. They're both crazy motherfuckers, Lyle thinks. "So, are you going to fuck me?"
Alle smiles, all delight and innocence, and Halle sneers. "If you earn it, maybe. Get your ass downstairs, now."
The way he pauses after he says the words is indication enough that he's waiting for Lyle to resist, and Lyle can't help but oblige him if he's going to give such a wide target. "What if I don't want to fuck on broken furniture?"
"Then we're going to have a problem," Halle says, and makes a motion with his hand. Alle moves all at once, fluid too-fast grace, and jerks him toward the stairs so hard that it rips the collar of Lyle's t-shirt. Lyle leans back, away from the direction he's being pulled, and Halle's hand comes down hard on Lyle's ass.
Delicious sting makes Lyle misstep enough that it gives Alle leverage to drag Lyle down the stairs. Once he starts, there's no stopping until they're at the bottom and Lyle is pinned against the wall--air knocked out of his lungs by the impact--and being kissed.
Alle's kisses are sweet, almost tentative, and the sound of Halle coming down the stairs after them is dark and ominous, a cloud over the both of them that makes Lyle shiver. Alle shivers too, and they break the kiss, and there's just enough light to see the hunger in Alle's eyes too, the need for what only Halle can give.
Halle doesn't touch either of them once he's down the stairs, though. He goes off to the right and there's a click, and now Alle's features are awash with light from the bare bulb. It's old and the light it casts is yellow, making their olive skin look sallow, but that doesn't do a damn thing to damper Lyle's arousal.
"What--" he starts, and Alle's hand comes up and presses over his windpipe. Alle's smile is feral, but it is his own; he's doing this because he wants to, not because Halle's controlling him with magical brainwaves.
"Over here," Halle calls, and Alle pushes Lyle away from the wall with nothing but that hand gripping hard enough that there's going to be bruises tomorrow. It'll be fun to explain that to his life drawing class, but if they're not used to his frequent bruises at this point then they never will be.
Alle deposits Lyle in the remains of a loveseat, and Halle's standing there with a leg from the dining room chairs from two years ago in his hand. Its end is ragged and looks wonderfully nasty in the light, the cherry color of the wood suggestive of blood. They were a lucky find at a thrift store, Lyle remembers, right up until Lasse and Lichty got stinking drunk and tried doing some fucking thing with them and broke both.
"Now," Halle says, and grins. "I can beat you and you can blow Alle, or Alle can beat you and you can blow me. Choose."
Nothing in Halle's voice, stance, or expression gives away which option he prefers, so Lyle goes for the one he hasn't done yet: "I'll blow you."
Alle looks positively delighted by this, and before he takes the chair leg from Halle he lets Halle draw him into a kiss. Lyle's always had a bit of a thing for the whole mirror dynamic, so by the time the kiss breaks and Alle's holding the chair leg he's hard as hell.
Halle smirks. "You're easy to turn on, aren't you, cocksucker?"
Lyle licks his lips, slow and sexy. No use denying it, but... "Maybe you're just good at it."
Smoothly, Halle steps back at the same time that Alle steps forward and swings the chair leg right into Lyle's forearm. It's not a hard enough hit to break his bones, just hard enough to grind them together and make lush pain spiral through his senses.
While Halle's busy taking off his jeans, nothing underneath, Alle proves that he knows how to give just as well as he knows how to take. The hits aren't harder than Lyle can stand--broken bones seem like a fond wish rather than an undesirable outcome--and they're placed evenly, not too concentrated, but not so gentle that Lyle's left yawning.
Then Alle steps back and Halle steps forward and there's metal gleaming in his hand. He cuts Lyle's shirt off, reducing it to ribbons, one of which he ties around Lyle's eyes for a blindfold and others that he uses to tie Lyle's hands together on top of his head.
It'll certainly make the blowjob a fucking challenge, but Lyle doesn't mind, and especially doesn't mind when Alle brings the chair leg down right on top of Lyle's kidneys. He groans at the feeling, the red tinge that's taking over his senses.
All at once the smell of male arousal is strong, and he opens his mouth for Halle's cock. Halle's not gentle with it, and uses it in the best way possible all at once: tilting Lyle's head back and shoving every bit down his throat.
The sudden bloom of pain on his thigh makes him groan around Halle's considerable member, but Halle is merciless and so is Alle. Every time Halle's got his cock as far as it'll go down Lyle's throat, Alle hits in a particularly sensitive area, or stops to rake the sharp ends down Lyle's chest, or grind the splinters into his armpit, or even once brush so teasingly over Lyle's erection, trapped as it is in his pants.
Alle's not as brutal as Lyle thinks that Hallelujah can be, but with the way Halle's fucking his throat he's glad for it; the last thing he wants to do is bite down too hard. Just enough is good, enough to make Halle shove it deeper, cut off his air more thoroughly.
Lyle loses himself in the pain and the breathplay, willingly giving himself over to their capable hands and finding himself--when Halle finally comes all over Lyle's face--to be on the edge of orgasm, if only they'd touch him there.
But they know it. They can smell it. There are words, but Lyle can't really follow them. He's pleasantly lost in the haze.
"Beg," someone says, with Halle's inflection.
"No," Lyle breathes, and the chair leg comes down on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He claws his hands together, struggling to draw in more breath, panting.
Someone's hand tangles in his hair and pulls his head back and Alle says, "He's not ready yet."
Whatever Halle says, the words are lost in the rush of arousal and disappointment and no, no, please that he still doesn't have the breath to give voice to. They leave him there, gasping, face covered in semen, still tied and blindfolded and bleeding and hard.
Neil is the one who finds him, long enough that his sweat has cooled and the blood has clotted and his erection is mostly gone.
"Dear God," Neil breathes, and there are hands on him untying his hands, untying the blindfold.
Lyle can't do anything but beg: "Fuck me."
Neil obliges, because Neil always obliges, but afterward in the bathroom with the first aid kit, he demands an explanation and Lyle, still flooded with endorphins from the scene and the fucking Neil gave him, actually answers: "I met someone. Two someones."
"Ah," is all Neil says, but there's a level of understanding to that one syllable that Lyle is so grateful for he could cry.
◊
The next few times Lyle thinks about smoking, he remembers Halle. He remembers the heat of the cigarette near his face, and the coldness of the fear surging through his veins at the idea that he might lose his eyes.
There's no way to tell if Halle's serious or not, not without giving it a try, and it takes him a while to work up the balls to try. It's two weeks after they cornered him in the basement, long enough that the burns are fading to scars and the cuts on his chest are fading as well, no longer fresh wounds to be opened by twisting the wrong way or something equally unexciting.
Lasse works at a building downtown and Lyle follows him to work one day, letting himself in behind Lasse with only a bare look from his roommate, and goes straight up to the roof.
It takes him a little while to work up to it, once he's on the roof. He has the cigarettes in one pocket and the lighter in the other, like keeping them separate will make it easier to resist, and he's past the initial nicotine cravings but he still wants a cigarette so badly he can taste it.
He pulls one out with shaking fingers and places it between his lips. Three tries before the lighter will light--poor Zippo doesn't like not getting used--but after that he has it, the sweet relief flooding through him as he inhales.
Lyle's hard, too, but that's probably just a by-product of thinking about Halle's promise. Halle's threat.
He manages to get halfway through the cigarette before he gets too afraid to continue, before he psychs himself up so much that he has to put the damn thing out.
"Good choice," a voice says from behind him, Halle's voice, and Lyle freezes all over.
Halle's panting a little, chest rising and falling a little bit more harshly than is strictly normal. He leans over Lyle and picks up the discarded cigarette butt. He holds it between thumb and forefinger for a moment, distaste plain on his face, and then crushes it in the palm of his hand. It's a ball of tobacco and filter and paper when he opens his hand again.
"Eat it," is all Halle says, but not like it's exciting. Not like this is anything he enjoys. Just a chore to be done.
Lyle swallows hard. Eat it? That's better than getting his eye taken out just because Halle's a psycho but... "Why?"
A slap, the crack of flesh on flesh ringing over the barren rooftop. Halle kneels next to Lyle and holds the ball between thumb and forefinger, directly in front of Lyle's face. "Because I told you to." His voice is low and dangerous, threatening without words.
Same reasoning he gave Alle. Interesting. Lyle opens his mouth and shuts his eyes tightly.
It tastes pretty rancid, but Lyle has no trouble swallowing huge pills so the remains of the cigarette are no problem--aside from the noxious taste of the cigarette itself. He wishes fervently for something to wash it down, but knows without asking that he won't get it.
"Good. Now, if I ever catch you smoking again, I really fucking will make good on my promise, no matter whether you've already put it out or not. We green?"
"Super green," Lyle mumbles.
Halle grins, the kind of grin that is all angles and malice and barely contained violence. "I guess you're expecting some kind of beating for following orders, then, aren't you?"
Lyle licks his lips. Maybe he is, a little. But it is, "Hoping for, not expecting."
"Good," Halle says, and in the next breath kicks Lyle right in the face. Lyle gasps as the pain explodes through his cheek, and Halle fists his hand in Lyle's hair, drawing his head back, licking at the blood that comes from the new cut on his cheek. "That's all you get for now. Just remember: I'm always here, even if you don't fucking see me."
Lyle will keep that in mind for the future, he thinks, as he watches Halle walk toward the door to the stairwell.
◊
Most of the rest of that day is spent feeling nauseous and generally like shit. Lyle keeps sticking his finger down his throat, but his gag reflex won't cooperate and he just can't make himself throw up. If only, he thinks, again and again.
A little research on the Internet shows that it is, in fact, the cigarette making him feel this way; apparently as little as two, when eaten, can kill a person. The fact that he's not dead does not at this juncture make him feel any better.
It's a damn good thing that today is Neil's long day at school, and then his NA meeting, because if he comes home and finds Lyle's face black and blue while he's sitting miserably in the bathroom waiting to throw up Neil will probably blow a gasket and do something silly like demand to know who his mystery tormentors are and that would just be... unpleasant.
More unpleasant than this, Lyle thinks, and half an hour before it's time for Neil to come home takes a bucket with him up to his room. Lichty forces a water bottle on him, too, saying how he needs to keep his fluids up if he's planning on puking. He doesn't sleep, but the nausea does slowly abate the more water he drinks and the more time that passes.
The taste of the ash and tobacco and the bitterness that must be the paper or the filter never quite leaves the back of Lyle's throat. He dreams of cleaning ashtrays with his tongue, and Halle forcing him to eat every cigarette butt he finds.
◊
Alle shows up the following morning. Lyle's meant to be going to school in half an hour, but the second he opens the door and sees Allelujah's benevolent smile he decides that those plans are right out.
"My roommates aren't home," Lyle says, instead of Hello, because saying hello to his stalkers doesn't seem quite right.
"I know." Alle steps in without being invited; some hysterical part of Lyle's brain thinks, At least he's not a vampire, but the thought is there and gone before Lyle can even start to giggle. "They won't be back for two and a half hours."
Wow, that is... meticulous. Lyle blinks a couple times and shakes his head, although not at Alle's words. "You two really got it down to a fine art."
Alle shrugs. "We don't have much to do during the day. You're our new project."
Simultaneously there are two things swirling around Lyle's mind: glee at having the full attention of two smoking hot guys and a vague sort of fear of the very same thing. He has always been acutely aware of the danger inherent in their attention, though, so that is nothing new.
"So, bedroom or basement?" Alle asks, with another of his adorable smiles.
Lyle prefers to not clean up blood afterward, so he chooses the basement as the scene for... whatever it is that Alle is going to do.
He wonders absently which Alle he's going to get: the one that hurts or the one that soothes. Both would be nice, actually, he decides as he follows Alle down the stairs. The bare bulb once again provides all the light that they need, and Alle sits down on the couch (the one that got torn up the last time that Neil lost it) fully clothed.
Alle sits with his legs slightly apart, his arms spread across the back of the couch, and a come-hither look that would put girls in every porno Lyle's ever seen to shame. Still, he can't help staying back, just looking at Alle, danger's twin in repose.
Without a word, Alle reaches into his pocket and pulls out something. It's terribly small, but Lyle realizes after a moment that it's one of those single-use packs of flavored lube. It's red, like blood.
There are so many implications inherent in the simple gesture that it boggles Lyle's mind, and makes him respect Alle without even meaning to. (Lyle's respect is something to be earned after a long and arduous battle, not won easily by a boy with a handful of lubricant, damn it all.)
Lyle walks over to him and takes the tube of lubricant, holding it gingerly in his mouth as he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons and unzips his jeans. They are loose and cascade to the dusty concrete floor now they have nothing holding them to Lyle's waist, and he toes off his sneakers before stepping out of his jeans and taking the lubricant with his hand.
His boxer-briefs are like a second skin, and do nothing to hide the fact that his cock is rapidly hardening. Casually he reaches down and adjusts himself, and Allelujah breaks out in a grin. "I bet Halle that you could get hard on implications alone," he says, and splays a hand over Lyle's chest, where the almost-healed scratches from last time are beneath Lyle's shirt. "Looks like I won."
There's probably some sort of response to that which doesn't involve the words smug bastard, but Lyle can't think of it at the moment, so he says what he can think of. "I guess you think winning a bet against him gives you a right to be a smug bastard."
Alle laughs at him, light and careless. "No. I think getting you hard on implications alone gives me the right to be a smug bastard."
Point, Lyle thinks. "So how are we going to do this?"
"Well, first you're going to stand on the couch and fuck my mouth, and I'm going to finger you while you do that. After that... mmm, only one place it can go, really." And his grin is lewd now, daring Lyle to contradict his plans.
"Am I going to get off?" Lyle cannot resist asking; he's beginning to feel wound tight as a top by these two.
Alle laughs again, which is answer enough. One of these days, Lyle is just going to start begging, but he's not quite there yet so instead of begging he climbs up onto the couch and rubs his cock on Alle's face.
This time Alle's laugh is different, kind of a low chuckle that raises goosebumps on Lyle's arms, but he does exactly what he promised he would and takes Lyle's cock into his mouth. His hands come around, clutching Lyle's ass, and Lyle nearly overbalances and bends over to grasp the back of the couch so he won't fall over. By the time he has a good grip, his cock is halfway down Allelujah's throat, as far as it will go, and he's groaning at the feeling, lubricant clenched in his free hand.
"Exactly--" he starts, cuts off into another groan, and licks his lips and tries again. "Exactly what part of this is me being fingered while you blow me?"
As is only reasonable, Alle pulls away from Lyle's cock to answer with his own question, delivered with a kind of edge like a knife: "Is that a complaint?"
"Yes," Lyle says, and for the word, he ends up with Allelujah's fingers digging deliciously into his ass. Deeper and deeper, but not quite enough to draw blood, and by that point Lyle can feel his lips pressed against the length of Lyle's cock, smiling. Smirking, possibly, but Alle's never seemed quite as smug as Halle.
"Give me that," Alle mutters seconds later, and his fingernails rake over the back of Lyle's hand, which is clutching the lubricant just as tightly as he's clutching the couch, albeit with different hands.
Lyle gives up the lubricant easily; Alle rips it open with his teeth and the sickly-sweet fake smell of cherries is suddenly in the air, mixing with the smells of cock and saliva. If not for the sight of that gorgeous viscous redness on Alle's fingers, Lyle might complain, but as it is the sight makes his cock twitch so he keeps his mouth shut. For now.
Standing as he is with his legs on either side, wider to support him better, it's easy for Alle's slick fingers to slide into the cleft of his ass and tease his hole. At the same time, Alle's mouth closes around Lyle's cock again.
He remembers his part of this whole deal, and as soon as he's sure he's not going to get bitten down on Lyle shoves his cock down Allelujah's throat. Alle makes a sound, choked, but not a sound like he wants anything to stop. His fingers in Lyle's ass certainly don't stop, two sliding in maybe a little faster than Lyle would really want but Alle's guessed well: Lyle likes the burn of getting stretched too fast.
"Fuck," Lyle breathes, to no one in particular, and straightens up. He's tall enough to reach the ceiling, and braces himself on that with one hand and by way of the back of Alle's neck with the other. His fingernails dig in and scrape a little, but he's fairly sure Allelujah doesn't mind because at that point he's taking his frustration these past weeks out on Alle's mouth.
Alle doesn't complain, doesn't push Lyle away. What he does do is continue that delicious fingering, those long digits burying themselves in his ass and pulling out again at least halfway in time with the thrusts into and out of Alle's mouth.
Although they don't rest when Lyle gives Alle half a minute of breathing space, and Alle is not so very much like Lyle after all: he doesn't do things to earn further mouth-fucking before Lyle's ready. Whether that's his nature or him not wanting Lyle to come, Lyle doesn't know, and he thinks as he begins to feel the heat curling and mounting in the pit of his stomach about not saying anything and just keeping it up until he does come.
But somehow Allelujah figures it out, and about forty-five seconds before Lyle would come, pulls his fingers out and in a move that shows strength Lyle wouldn't have credited him with, pulls away from Lyle's grasp neat and easy as you please. He's looking more rather than less aroused, pupils blown and mouth all swollen from the blowjob.
Delicious, Lyle thinks, and settles into a crouch so that he can kiss those swollen lips. Alle kisses back with fervor, although he doesn't try to lead the kiss; he lets Lyle have control without being passive.
More lessons from Halle, no doubt.
"Did you guess lucky, or did you know I was about to come?" Lyle asks, when the kiss breaks and Alle is busy panting against Lyle's mouth, eyes half-open.
"Smelled it." Alle takes a deep breath, sighs it out, and wriggles under Lyle. "Take my jeans off; time for you to ride me."
That, Lyle thinks, is a most excellent idea, so he hastens to obey and in short order has Alle's jeans and panties--and that's something he'll have to ask about, later, if he gets a chance--off and is once more crouching above Alle's lap. He wonders how Alle would take being teased, but before he has a chance to find out Alle's hands are on his hips, guiding him down; Lyle reaches between his legs to hold Alle's cock in place as he slides onto it.
They both moan at the feeling, Alle lowly and Lyle in this high kind of whine that he wouldn't have thought himself capable of. If it weren't for Alle fucking smelling the orgasm on him, he has a feeling he'd be silly enough to hope absently for one. But he's not even far enough gone to be that stupid. Not yet; if they keep at it they can probably work him there, though.
"So nice," Alle sighs, and puts his head back, wide smile on his lips.
Lyle stays still just to see if he can eke out some kind of punishment for inaction, but Alle doesn't hit him. What he does do is make this growly sort of sound in his throat, frustration or whatever else, Lyle's not sure, but it's delicious and he wants to hear it again. So he gives Allelujah a couple strokes, down and up and back down again, then grinding, then back up, where he pauses.
This time Alle laughs delightedly and pushes up into Lyle like it's not any kind of problem for him. With abs like his, Lyle doesn't imagine it is, and stays where he is. That kind of strength is a kind that he can really fucking appreciate.
Eventually, Alle slows down, but those strokes are deeper, and on the upstroke of one he grabs Lyle's hips and holds on and rolls his hips, and Lyle's eyes just about roll back in his head. For his part, Alle's panting, color high in his cheeks.
Lyle can't help but wonder exactly how much Alle gets out of his mouth being fucked, to be this close already, but doesn't dare ask because the last fucking thing he wants is for this sex to be derailed. If Alle gets into it enough, maybe he'll slip up and Lyle will get an orgasm out of the deal, too. He can feel the heat in the pit of his stomach coiling up again, tighter and tighter.
And then Alle stops. Just stops, and moans, head back, long line of his neck exposed. Lyle bites it, because he wants to and because Alle is coming anyway, and Alle pretty much convulses under him and makes this broken sound that is like every wet dream Lyle's ever had.
Alle collapses back against the couch after that, and Lyle sits on his lap, enjoying the feel of Alle's erection softening against the inside of his leg. Eventually, he seems to come around a little, making more little sounds and touching Lyle's face and pulling Lyle into a kiss.
"Good?" Lyle asks, because he wants to hear it.
"You have to ask?" He laughs, a light sound that descends into a deeper, darker place when Lyle's teeth sink into his neck. "Yes, it was good."
"Tell Halle I enjoyed it."
All at once Alle freezes, and Lyle thinks: Halle doesn't know Alle's here. Or at the very least, Halle didn't give Alle permission to do this. Interesting, to finally have proof that they don't think and act with a single brain; Lyle was beginning to doubt.
"Or not," Lyle says, so Alle will know what kind of answer his non-answer was.
Alle rolls his eyes. "He'll find out, one way or another. It was just that he didn't send me specifically."
Right, Lyle thinks, but lets Alle get away with it. "Time for you to go, then?"
It is, so Lyle sits on the couch and watches him get dressed--he feels enough like he's gotten in payback that he doesn't ask about the panties--and kisses back when Alle stops for a goodbye kiss before he leaves.
At least the encounters are getting more satisfying, Lyle figures. One way or another.
◊
At first Lyle thinks it's like a mirage of some sort.
He can't possibly be seeing Allelujah standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he waits in line at the grocery store. Surely sociopaths don't eat?
Then he thinks: it's a trap. It's been two days now and Halle's waiting somewhere; the second he goes over to Alle he'll have his foot in the snare and there'll be no getting away. Not that I want to get away, he amends, it's just that it's too goddamn good to be true.
Before Lyle can get up the balls to say anything, Alle's chin comes up sharply and he turns around halfway and his eyes find Lyle unerringly. No looking around, just straight to him.
And he's not even wearing cologne today. Maybe he should try that; might throw the bloodhounds off a little bit. Still, Lyle's smiling, and walking toward Alle, who's looking at him like he's expecting as much. The guy behind Alle in line looks like he wants to say something, but when Alle leans over and gives Lyle a kiss on the lips he reconsiders it and studies his shoes like they're holding all the answers.
"Halle's not around," Alle says, before Lyle can ask.
He's sporting a black eye, and Lyle wonders if that's related, but decides that discretion is the better part of valor and doesn't even think about inquiring as to the reason Halle's fist took a disliking to Alle's face. "I--"
"You were going to ask." Alle's tone dares him to nay-say him, and Lyle would except Alle starts speaking again before he gets a chance. "So, we can drop everything and go back to your place and fuck like rabbits, or you can risk his anger in twenty minutes when he shows up to make sure I haven't fallen down a hole."
The guy behind them clears his throat, like it'll do him any good, and Lyle ignores him. "I think I'll take the fuck like rabbits option."
"Excellent choice," Alle says, like he's flirting, like they're not already going to be fucking for sure. "Neil will be home, but he's probably itching to meet us at this point, isn't he?"
Neil was just asking yesterday when he might get to meet Lyle's new boyfriends. (Lyle corrected him that they weren't his boyfriends, and Neil rolled his eyes, but that's neither here nor there.) "Yep. He should be in his room studying."
The two of them leave their baskets next to the magazine rack and walk out. They'll be back for them--or they won't. It doesn't matter, really. What does matter is getting back down to the basement post-haste, and they are taking care of that, so the world is going fine in Lyle's opinion.
They chat on the walk home about Lyle's career as a amateur model for life drawing classes--Alle works at a strip club, apparently--but the second they're through the door they drop conversation in favor of sticking their tongues down each other's throats. Alle jumps up, arms around Lyle's neck, and wraps both legs around Lyle's waist, leaving no doubt as to who will be doing what this encounter, not with the way he's grinding his ass down against Lyle's cock.
"Do... do I get to come this time?" Lyle asks, pants, between kisses, halfway down the basement stairs.
"No," Alle says quickly, and captures Lyle's lips again.
Lyle can't resist asking "Do I ever... ever get to-- to come?" the next time they break apart for want of air, this time when he's pressing Alle down against the uneven couch cushions.
"Eventually." Alle makes a whiny noise in his throat and unbuttons and unzips his jeans in one smooth movement and forces Lyle's hand inside.
When he touches lace, Lyle can't help a smile. "What's with you and panties? Do you always wear them?"
"Yes." Alle doesn't even blush about it, just arches into Lyle's touch and moans. "They're-- I-- humiliation. Also, they feel nice."
Apparently. "I wouldn't think there's room for, y'know, all your parts."
"There's not, always." Alle grins. "That's part of the draw."
Lyle thinks maybe he's beginning to understand, just a little. He leans back and pulls down Alle's jeans, leaving his panties on. Lube tumbles out of the back pocket as he does, and Lyle nearly laughs with delight. "You actually carry lubricant around with you?"
"Hell, yes. Better than walking funny when Halle forgets to carry his."
Huh. Lyle supposes that answers any questions he might have had about Halle's sex drive, and splitting it between two people. Then again, Alle's sex drive seems to match. "You two fuck, like, all the goddamn time, don't you?"
"Mmm. You going to fuck me, or waste time talking?"
"Shouldn't I finger you first?" Lyle asks, to be polite, because he shouldn't just go ahead and assume that Alle and Halle just fucked when he doesn't know them that well. Yet.
Alle's grin says that Lyle knows better than to be polite, and those sort of assumptions are the best kind and thus completely okay. "You really don't want to come, by the way. Halle will lose interest if he's not the one to rip it out of you."
"Good to know," Lyle says, as Alle rolls over on the couch and comes up onto his hands and knees.
A low hum is all he receives in return, and a wriggle of that delicious ass. It's not huge but not flat, just round enough to get a good grip on. Lyle unzips his jeans and pulls down his boxers enough to drag his cock out; when he presses the head in the cleft of Alle's ass, it's slick.
Even so Alle gasps, so Lyle grabs the lube and slicks it down his cock and in the next movement pushes inside. They both groan at the feeling, and Alle pushes back against Lyle, and Lyle's heart is beating fit to go straight through his chest.
"Slow down," Lyle murmurs, gently. Pets a hand down Alle's back.
"Can't," Alle returns, and fucks himself back onto Lyle's cock, so desperate that it makes Lyle want to rethink this whole not coming because Halle will lose interest thing. "Halle's coming."
Oh fuck. Lyle's hips snap forward and back at a feverish pace, almost without his consent. He can see Alle's eagerness written in every line of his body, see the need to come before Halle gets here in the way he grips the couch, the desperate way he pushes back against every thrust, and the whiny sounds he makes in his throat.
It's gorgeous, and probably the quickest sex Lyle's ever had from start to finish. He doesn't come, but only just barely; the feeling of Alle clenching around him nearly drives him right over the edge, and then there's the way Alle's back arches and that moan he gives.
"Holy fuck," Lyle breathes, leaning over Alle's body, touching his chest, his shoulders, his face. Kissing the back of his neck. "Did we make it?"
Alle sighs, and whimpers, and wriggles, but says nothing. And doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry to get anywhere. Although--not like he's going to be able to hide the obvious evidence from Halle's nose, so there's not much point in that.
"How close is he?" Lyle tries a minute or so later, when Alle's breathing evens out.
"I lied." Alle sighs again and rolls over, and pulls Lyle down into a kiss. "You'll forgive me, though."
Lyle wants to be angry, just for that, but finds that all that comes out is this nervous sort of laugh. It's just beginning to dawn on him what kind of game these two are playing, and that Lyle is just another piece in their play.
Well, fuck that. He's more than a fucking piece to be used the way they want. Lyle uses a dirty towel draped over the back of the couch to wipe off his cock and stands up, and in a smooth movement pulls Alle up off of the couch too. "Put your pants on; we're going upstairs."
Alle does what he's told, meek as a lamb. No comment, no complaint, no looks. Just obedience.
"You're so easy, you know that?" Lyle says on the way up the stairs. Through the kitchen and the living room, they stop outside of Neil's door. "Knock."
Once again Alle does what he's told, raising his fist and rapping three times on the door, not too sharply and not too soft. Right in the middle, the sweet spot.
"What?" Neil calls, tone aggravated. "I'm in the middle of putting together a fucking bibliography."
Neil's least favorite part of writing research papers; he won't mind being interrupted, then. Lyle turns the knob and walks in, pulling Alle after him like a pet, or maybe a prize. Neil turns in his chair, mouth open to say something, but no words escape and Lyle can just watch him taking in Alle's disheveled appearance and the smell of sex clinging to both of them.
"So this is one of your new boyfriends?" Neil asks, and tilts his head, slow smile spreading over his lips.
Alle looks at Lyle, and the narrowing of his eyes says, Not boyfriends. Lyle just grins at him, like he has no idea what that glare is for. "Alle, this is my brother Neil. Neil, this is Alle." He's not quite ready to pop the full name on Neil, as it's unlikely that either of them will live it down.
Neil is a gentleman and stands, offering a hand to Alle. Who looks at it like it might bite him, and then puts his hand out and they shake. Allelujah's shake doesn't look limp, but it's not harsh either; he doesn't grip Neil's hand in a way that makes Neil react uncomfortably. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Neil murmurs, and sits back down without ceremony. "So is it you leaving Lyle all cut up, or the other one?" Because you, Neil's expression says, don't look fit to hurt a fly.
"Both." Alle's feral grin is less frightening than Halle's feral grin, but it's still enough to make Neil shift and look at the ground.
Lyle feels immensely pleased with himself, even as they say their goodbyes and file back out of Neil's room. Alle didn't expect this; he's gotten one up on them. For now.
Next section (2)