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Mark and Staale are the worst kept secret in snowboarding. Which is why, when Sage turns up at Mark's room the night before the final, he's unsurprised to see Mark sprawled over Staale's thighs, making out like they've been at it for hours.
Sage coughs. "Um, I brought snacks?" he says, holding them up in one hand and a copy of Fight Club in the other.
"Oh, hey, awesome," Mark says, pulling away from Staale to grin brightly at Sage, who's still standing in front of the door. His mouth is red and bruised-looking, and he and Staale are both flushed and shirtless.
It makes Sage's hands itch just looking at them. It's not a new feeling.
Mark unpeels himself from Staale, flopping down onto where they've pushed the two beds together. He pats the space next to him.
"Come on in," he says, inviting, and Sage stumbles forward helplessly, M&Ms clutched to his chest.
Staale greets him with grin and a, "Hey," as Sage settles down gingerly on the other side of Mark, who yanks the snacks and DVD out of his hands.
"Ooh, I love Fight Club," he says brightly, and Sage wonders for a second if his enthusiasm is just nerves for the race tomorrow or if he's really just like this all the time. He'd bet a lot on it being the latter, but nervousness takes people in a lot of bizarre ways, so.
Briefly, he thinks of all the ways that adrenaline might be burned off, and then has to stop before anyone notices he's half-hard in his sweatpants. Staale might kill him and then America would be sad.
Plus, Sage really wants the gold. Being dead would probably put a crimp in that.
He leans back against the pile of pillows while Mark puts the DVD in, grabbing a handful of M&Ms and tossing a couple into the air. Staale stretches his arms out along the headboard as Mark jumps back onto the bed between them; his hand brushes almost absent-mindedly against the back of Sage's head, and Sage almost chokes on the M&M he just caught in his mouth.
He looks askance at the other two, but neither are paying him any attention, heads turned towards the TV. He does the same, and starts to get lost in the movie as it plays - he fucking loves this movie, even though he's seen it so many times he could probably narrate it.
They get halfway through, and then Sage becomes aware that Staale is playing with his hair. He goes still, glancing sideways, but Staale's eyes are still glued to the TV. Sage frowns slightly but says nothing. It's not like it's bothering him - it feels kinda nice, actually - so he gives a mental shrug and lets it go.
A little while later Mark's hand lands on his knee. Sage jumps like he's been electrocuted, but when Mark turns to look at him (innocently, the little fucker), he doesn't know what to say. "Your hand is on my knee," is just stating the obvious, and "Why is your hand on my knee?" isn't much better. It's probably an accident, he decides, when Mark goes back to watching the movie. He'll probably realise and move it any minute now.
Yep. Any minute now ...
Okay, he's not moving it. This is getting weird, he should - oh.
Staale is playing with his hair again. Actually, it's more like he's petting it, his fingers scratching gently against Sage's scalp, and fuck. That's - that feels awesome, Sage is leaning back into it before he can even think about what he's doing.
He's vaguely aware of Mark's hand moving upwards, but it's not until it reaches Sage's inner thigh that he kind of realises he should maybe be concerned about that. And then Staale's fingers tug on his hair a little and he pretty much forgets to protest.
He draws in a quick breath and tips his head forward, clutching the blankets when Mark digs his fingers in, and Staale takes the opportunity to yank his head back and settle his hand at the base of Sage's neck. Sage is about to complain when it occurs to him -
"Hey, is this a date?" he says, looking over to where Mark is pressed back against Staale's chest, and they're both staring at him with increasingly incredulous expressions the longer they do so.
"What do you think?" Staale says. It's clearly meant to be sarcastic, but it also sounds like he's really asking.
Sage thinks it is. He thinks he's wanted them to ask him out on a date for a long time. He thinks the natural reaction to finding out your best friends are boning should probably be "good for them," and not "holy shit, that's hot," which is what he'd originally thought. He thinks the best thing in the world would be winning gold tomorrow, but a better thing would be winning it with these two dudes right there beside him.
He grins. "Awesome," he says happily, and tugs his shirt off over his head. They need to be naked, like, yesterday, and also Sage is totally a guy who puts out on the first date.
Mark is the first to move, surprising exactly no one; he's up and straddling Sage's legs before either of the other two can blink.
"You are so dumb," he tells Sage, but it's fond and delivered with a long, slow kiss so Sage can't really bring himself to be offended. "We've been trying to get you to join us for ages. Didn't you ever realise? I know we weren't subtle about it."
Sage grins sheepishly into the kiss. Now that he thinks about it, it does kind of seem obvious that they've been trying to get him into bed - he thinks back to hundreds of nights like this, with all three of them tangled together on a bed or a sofa, or the floor if the first two weren't available. He recalls the dozen or so times they've gotten drunk together, when Mark and Staale would get kind of handsy and make out in front of him and it was all Sage could do not to just sit and watch them like a creeper. And, more tellingly, the fact that these guys are his direct competition tomorrow and yet he can't imagine anyone else standing on the podium beside him (in the silver and bronze positions of course; like he'd let anyone else have the gold).
"I'm a fucking idiot," he says, as the realisation that they could've been banging for months hits him.
Beside him, Staale laughs. "That's what I said," he says, but he, too, takes the sting out of his words by shuffling closer and pressing his mouth to Sage's.
He kisses different from Mark; they're both sloppy and overly enthusiastic, of course, but Mark kisses like he's gotten distracted on the way to doing something else with his mouth. Staale kisses like he's trying to own your entire body and this is just a convenient starting place.
Needless to say, Sage is pretty into both of them.
When Staale pulls away, Sage hears himself make a disappointed noise and makes a note to be embarrassed about it later. Staale smiles and plants a short but firm kiss against Sage's cheek.
"Watch," he whispers, and Sage just blinks at him, uncomprehending, until he realises Mark is moving down the bed and settling between his legs.
Oooohh. Now he gets it.
"Holy shit," he says, staring down at where Mark is tugging Sage's sweatpants and briefs down over his hips. His cock springs free and leaves a smear of pre-come along his belly; Mark flashes him a filthy smirk as he wraps his hand around the base, and this is officially the hottest thing that has ever happened to Sage in his fucking life.
"You know, the first time we ever discussed this," Staale says, his voice a low curl of heat in Sage's ear, gesturing between the three of them, "he said the one thing he really wanted was to blow you."
"It's true," Mark interjects, his bottom lip brushing the head of Sage's cock with every word. "I'm pretty good with my mouth, man."
"He really is," Staale murmurs, propping Sage up against his chest and draping his arms over Sage's shoulders. "He'll look so pretty with it wrapped around your dick."
Sage gasps, hands twisting in the sheets. "Sounds great," he says weakly, and they laugh.
"Staale likes to watch," Mark says in a stage-whisper, like he's sharing a secret. "Wanna give him something to look at?" He glances up at Sage through his lashes, and Sage is done waiting.
"Totally," he breathes, and then makes this weird, half-choked noise when Mark licks a long, hot stripe along his cock. "Oh, fuck." He grabs for Staale with one hand, his other hand burying itself in Mark's hair.
"He's kind of a tease," Staale says softly, brushing Sage's hair aside and kissing his neck. Mark makes a vaguely dissenting noise as his tongue explores the head of Sage's dick; Sage's toes curl and he squeezes his eyes shut.
Staale nips at his jaw. "You'll want to see this," he says, as Sage's eyes fly open again.
And as he watches, Mark's mouth slips down over Sage's cock until he meets his fist. Sage sucks in a breath like he's been punched in the stomach, unable to take his eyes from the stretch of Mark's lips around him, the hypnotising way he's bobbing his head, the little pleased noise he makes when Sage's hips accidentally thrust up.
Mark pulls off briefly to say, "It's okay, you can fuck my mouth a little, if you want," and then he goes right back to it, his hand relaxing its hold on his dick.
Sage keens a little. "I'm good like this," he manages to say, instead of "I'll come in thirty seconds if I do that," which was his initial response.
Staale puts his hand on the one Sage still has in Mark's hair. "We talked about this, too," he says. "On your birthday, after you'd gone home. I fucked him and made him tell me what he wanted from you. He was so beautiful, talking about how much he wanted to choke on your dick, I think that was when I knew we had to sleep with you, just so I could see it."
"You - oh my god," Sage groans, head falling back as he pictures it: Mark, sweaty and desperate, face red as filth falls from his mouth, Staale pounding into him, Mark's ankles thrown over his shoulders, kissing the flush as it creeps down his chest. "Are you even fucking serious right now, I can't -"
Mark pulls off again. "Please," he says quietly, and fuck. How the fuck is Sage supposed to say no to that?
He takes a shaky breath, trying to do that centering shit Staale is always on at him to do before a race. "Okay," he says. "But you gotta tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"
He waits for a nod of agreement, then he slowly guides Mark back onto his cock, rolling his hips just the slightest bit, pulling back almost immediately. It's so blissfully hot and wet that he wants to push back in, even deeper this time, but he waits a few seconds before doing so. It's only when Staale wordlessly presses down on Mark's head that Sage realises those few seconds were more for him than for Mark. After that, he's thrusting up rhythmically into Mark's mouth, and there's spit rolling down Mark's chin and over Sage's cock, and everything's a sweaty, hazy mess, until the liquid heat at the pit of Sage's stomach suddenly erupts and he's gripping Mark's hair so tightly he'll apologise for it later.
"Fuck, oh fuck," he pants, and his moans are swallowed up when Staale kisses him greedily over his shoulder. Then Mark does this thing with his throat and that's it, Sage is done, he's coming. He's across the finish line, up on the podium and the gold medal is wrapped around his junk.
That metaphor doesn't really work, but who gives a fuck? Point is, he just came so hard he might have actually died. Nothing feels this good in life.
When he blinks his eyes open it's to the sight of Staale trying to crawl his way into Mark's mouth. There's a smear of come at the corner of Mark's mouth, and even as Sage watches, Staale is licking it off, which - shit, that's weirdly fucking hot, if they keep that up, Sage is gonna be ready to go again in no time.
Staale is now dragging Mark back up to top of the bed. Sage summons up the energy to help them both get their pants off, and then Mark is straddling Staale again, and Staale's got both of their dicks in his hand, jacking himself and Mark off like he can't wait another second.
"Next time, I'm gonna make him eat you out," Staale mutters into Mark's mouth, the fingers of his other hand curved around Mark's jaw and keeping him there so he can't look away. "I'm gonna pin you down and make him eat your ass until you cry."
Sage lazily lifts his head from the pillow he's claimed as his own. "Oh, there's gonna be a next time?" he says brightly, and waves a hand in post-coital celebration. "Fuckin' A, dudes. Just tell me when and where."
Mark and Staale stop kissing long enough to roll their eyes fondly at him and drag him closer. Sage takes that as an opportunity to touch them everywhere he can reach, dazed and happy.
"Staale, I - oh," Mark's voice breaks when Staale twists his wrist on their cocks, and he clutches the headboard. "I want to watch you fuck him," he blurts out two seconds later, face going red.
Staale groans and presses his and Mark's foreheads together, hair sweat-soaked and crazy; then he glances over at Sage who gives him a thumbs up and says, "You can, that's cool with me."
When there's no reply, he looks over to find them staring at him with wide, dark eyes. He shrugs. "Tell me about it," he says. If dirty talking about their fantasies is their thing, he's totally up for encouraging them, especially if he gets to be the star.
Mark breaks first, when he says, "Fuck, he's such a jerk sometimes, I think you need to fuck that out of him."
Staale nods like he's thinking the same thing. "Think we can get him to shut up for longer next time?"
"I thought for sure a blow job would work," Mark says, and he's smirking, the jackass.
He soon stops, though, when Sage licks the palm of his hand and joins Staale's, still wrapped around his and Mark's dicks. Mark grips the headboard tighter, knuckles going white, and he shoves into their hands like he might die if he doesn't get off.
Sage gets up onto his knees and kisses him hard, stifling the soft, desperate whimpers coming out of his mouth.
"Fuck, you look so good together," Staale says, sounding absolutely wrecked.
"You knew we would," Mark tells him, as Sage licks a path up his neck and over his jaw. "The first time I ever suggested a threesome with him, I think you jizzed in your pants."
Sage looks up from where he's trying to leave the mother of all hickeys on Mark's neck. "Are you serious?" he says, delightedly watching Staale flush crimson.
"Oh yeah," Mark laughs.
"Shut up," Staale mutters, looking like he's starting to regret everything in his life ever.
Sage grins and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. "Come on, man, that's a compliment, don't be like that."
"I know what'll make him feel better," Mark says, his voice going low and promising. He leans in and looks Staale directly in the eye. "If you win tomorrow, I'll let you both fuck me." He flicks a glance at Sage, then back to Staale, and adds, "Together."
While Sage's brain is too busy screeching to a halt at the image, Staale is grabbing Mark by the back of the neck and devouring his mouth, his hand moving on their cocks with renewed vigour.
"You think you can take us both?" he says, when they break apart to breathe.
"I don't know," Mark says. "Get the gold and you'll find out."
"Shit," Staale says, with feeling. Sage sympathises. Staale works his hand faster, and Mark falls against him with a shout. Sage realises his own hand is just kind of sitting there, so he goes back to just touching them, stroking over their skin and running through their hair.
"I need you both in me," Mark is whispering frantically into Staale's ear. "I want to be so full of you I can't breathe -"
"You will," Staale promises hoarsely. "You will, god, I'll fuck you until you scream, until you beg, and then I'll let Sage work you wide open and he can slide right in next to me -"
Sage takes this as his cue to squeeze Mark's cute little ass, and then spread his cheeks and drag his finger over Mark's hole. Mark cries out, does this little shimmy with his hips like he can't work out whether to fuck into Staale's hand or back onto Sage's finger.
Sage pushes just the tip in, too dry and too fast, but Mark bolts upright and comes hard.
Staale makes a noise that sounds like it's been torn out of him. "Oh - oh, fuck," he gasps, pressing his face into Mark's neck. "Mark -"
And he follows over the edge, other hand searching for Sage's hand and holding it so hard Sage hears the bones creak.
Later, when their breathing has slowed, and Mark has flopped into the space between Staale and Sage like he can't keep himself upright anymore, they sort of manoeuvre themselves into a pile.
"Well, this was a surprise," Sage says vaguely. He's patting Mark on the hip for some reason and can't seem to stop.
There's a pause, and then Staale snorts. "You are the worst," he says, hitting Sage lightly on the shoulder.
"Ugh, why are you talking?" Mark complains, burying his face in a pillow.
"Whatever," Sage says happily. He's feeling pretty good about the world right now. "I'm still gonna kick your asses tomorrow."
***
Then he goes back to his room and finds them waiting for him, and - well, maybe the three of them wear their medals the whole time.
So what? They're Olympic fucking Champions.