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Ben whistles as Joe walks into his hotel room, Brennan leaning on his shoulder, eyes still stuck on Ben’s phone. Noticing, the phone turns off, a slight shift in Ben’s shoulders, and Brennan makes eye contact with a shy smile. “The big man,” Ben grins up at Joe, who watches over the pair at the end of the bed, “Welsh warrior’s reached fifty.” A heat bubbles in his stomach; Ben knows, Joe can tell, by the way his smile widens ever-so-slightly.
Brennan approaches him, on his knees right on the edge, as he pulls Joe in, lips moving frantically and messily. The force makes both of them lose their balance; Joe suddenly over Brennan, who lets out an “umph” as his back hits the bed. A hand slips under Brennan’s waist, and the other on his jaw. Brennan finds a way to slip his hands just under the shirt, and Joe tries not to shudder at the contact, but he grips a little tighter, and he’s pretty sure he’s being slowly undressed, mind already a little foggy from the leftover adrenaline.
“Joe, Brennan.”
One hand holding his waist, the other toying with Brennan’s waistband, he lowers his weight down, and Brennan flinches at the contact, the friction leaving them breathless. Fingers are brushing over his chest, and he thinks he’s reaching for heaven. The grinding is messy, desperate and uncoordinated, but he chases the friction; he thinks he could cum like this if he keeps going-
“Joe.”
There’s a strong tug against his strands that causes Joe to wince as he lifts his head to meet Ben’s eyes. Stern, but not unkind. Brennan’s still squirming beneath them, lips equally red as Joe’s as he yearns for his touch again. Ben gently presses against Brennan’s abdomen to stop the wriggling. Joe opens his mouth to complain — Bren wants this too, why’d you stop us? — but there’s another pull on his hair before Ben loosens his grip, gentle swipes across his scalp. “Joe, calm down, love,” Ben says, hand dropping down to his jaw before leaning in for a short and sweet kiss. There’s an eager tug on his shorts from Brennan, and Joe drops down to do the same for him. “It’s your night, big man, but take it slow, hm?” Ben offers, pulling his hand away from Joe, the other now petting Brennan’s head, who slowly sits up.
“Anything you want tonight, Joe, what do you want?” Brennan asks, and the images that materialise in Joe’s mind instantly throb down to his dick. It’s not the most romantic of places for a special, celebratory fuck, admittedly — they’re in the middle of Turkey, two thousand miles away from home, and Ben’s room is only slightly better than everyone else's (“Captain privileges,” Joe’d always grumbled, and Ben would only laugh, “You two are in my room half the time, I wouldn’t be complaining if I were you,” with a rare innuendo), and strange odour oozes throughout the entire hotel — but Brennan pulls him in again, slower and more careful; Joe momentarily forgets about the decision he’s supposed to make. Slow, steady, savour the moment, Joe tells himself, I can do that.
Or maybe he can’t, because they're suddenly shirtless and Joe can’t remember how they’ve got here — it feels like they’ve never broken apart. Ben’s still fully clothed in the corner of his eye, silently watching them. He’s enjoying it, Joe can tell, bulge visible against sweatpants, and he knows Ben gets off from the sight of this. He isn’t sure where Ben gets the self-resistance from, to not jack off on the side when he sees his two boyfriends get each other off.
“Wanna suck you off,” he mumbles between kisses, and Brennan stares, slightly wide-eyed, just as dazed as Joe feels. “Anything you want,” and Joe scrambles off the bed, knees on the carpet floor, when Ben finally moves, an outstretched hand with a decorative pillow. “Love you,” Joe mumbles before placing it under his knees, hands tugging on Brennan’s trousers. A slight rise of his hips, and Joe takes that as an invitation to pull down. He doesn’t look, but he imagines Ben’s frown, “Words, Joe,” he would want to remind him. There aren’t enough words running through his head for that, though, blood all rushing to his dick instead. Slow, slow, slow.
A gentle kiss on the fabric, and Brennan shudders, breath hitches, and he barely croaks out, “Joe, please.” The boxers come off, too, and Joe’s eyes drift behind Brennan momentarily. Ben’s still out of sight; Joe’s less sure of what he’s doing now. “You’re too far, Ben,” and he swears he hears a warm chuckle and the wrinkling of bedsheets. He sounds much closer when he speaks — behind Brennan, perhaps — “Joe’s so pretty like that, isn’t he? On his knees, like he’s worshipping you.” There’s a wet kiss left somewhere on Brennan, and the praise goes straight to Joe’s dick. Brennan doesn’t get a chance to respond properly, lips around his balls and a gasp fills the room instead. “Fuck.”
“My two boys, so beautiful like this, what have I done to deserve this sight?” Joe feels Brennan’s thighs tense at the words as he holds onto them, and he tries not to react himself, tries not to hump the air because that’s all that he can do. Patience, focus on Brennan.
He takes Brennan in one, adjusting himself and focusing on steadying his breathing and relaxing his jaw. The murmurs Ben’s whispering to Brennan feel like static against Joe’s eardrums, hearing as muffled as his sight is blurred. There’s a hand threading through his hair, soft and smooth. Eyes glance up to meet Brennan’s and Ben’s — the sensation’s strange, Joe decides, unused to being able to see Ben during this stage. “I’m ready when you are,” Brennan barely breathes out, hand still in barely-bleached strands. The contact’s reassuring, and Joe breathes and bobs in time with Brennan’s thumb stroking his hairline.
“Slow, Joe,” Ben reminds with praise, and Joe can imagine Brennan rolling his eyes, “Or fast,” he counters, “you feel fucking amazing either way.”
The metronome speeds, and so does Joe, and Brennan’s whines louden; Ben pins his hips down from behind, stops him from chasing the high himself or hitting the gag reflex hard. It’s a reward, Joe realises, a piece of freedom Ben wouldn’t normally afford at the cost of Brennan’s. “So good, both of you,” and the words echo in Joe’s head like a mantra, chasing his speed, and there’s a tight pull on his scalp that forces him to momentarily slow down as he moans around Brennan’s cock.
“Where’d you want it?” Ben asks, and Joe ignores him, focusing on eliciting louder noises from Brennan as the hand draws away. A part of him expects Ben to stop him, tug his hair and ask again, waiting for an answer, but a response never comes, and Joe sees Ben’s hand tracing circles on Brennan’s lower abdomen, holding him tight to prevent him from flinching. “Wants it in his mouth, Bren, you can do that for him, right?” Ben coos, and it’s like clockwork when Brennan cums, body instantly relaxing, limp against Ben’s, and Joe tries to take it all in, swallow without choking. There’s a hand in his hair — Ben’s — that traces down his jaw and pulls him up off his knees.
The angle’s strange; Brennan’s head is still in the crook of Ben’s neck, controlling his breathing, but Ben pulls Joe in, and they can feel Brennan’s breath stutter between them. It feels like Ben’s licking him clean, Joe thinks, trying to taste Brennan mixed in with Joe. He places his hand forward for balance, finding it on Ben’s thigh, dangerously close to his cock. Ben doesn’t acknowledge it when he pulls Joe away, the other hand massaging Brennan’s scalp, his eyes droopy — a mix of the rush and the game taking the energy out of him. “What do you want, love?” Ben asks, and Brennan points towards the pillows. Joe reaches to kiss Brennan’s forehead. “Are you going to sleep?”
“Don’t want to,” Brennan says, trying to stifle his yawn, “Wanna watch.” Joe wants to say that we haven’t even said what we’re going to do next, but Ben gently tugs at Brennan’s hips, guiding him against the headrest as he signals Joe to arrange the pillows. Joe thinks Ben’s holding himself back, lips in a thin line, probably wants to tell Brennan to sleep if he’s as tired as he looks. He doesn’t, though, and he turns back to him. “What do you want, Joe?” Ben asks, eyes soft as he pulls Joe closer, lips brushing, and Joe crashes them closer. Ben doesn’t resist, not today, gives in and indulges in Joe’s wishes. His hands slip under Ben’s shirt — how Ben is still fully clothed, Joe doesn’t understand — and he tugs it off when they pull away.
“Can…,” the words don’t quite reach his throat, and Ben looks at him warmly, hands removing his shorts. Joe tries not to look down, tells himself he has better restraint than this. “Can I fuck you?” There’s a small gasp of surprise from the side, Brennan looking at him wide-eyed. Joe doesn’t miss the raise of Ben’s eyebrows, even if for a split second; his heart drops. “Only if you want,” he quickly rushes to say.
There’s a teasing grin on Ben’s face: “You’re getting good at using words,” and it’s a dig at Joe, and he can’t help but whine. “But…if you want it,” he guides Joe’s hands onto the band of his boxers, “Who am I to say no to you?” It takes Joe a moment to process, but he pulls Ben’s boxers off and directs him to lie on his back. It’s strange, and Joe suddenly feels uncertain, Ben looking up at him with a stupid grin, and it’s starting to get to Joe — he’s observing too closely, and Joe feels like a lost kid. His blushes burn brighter when he notices Brennan’s hand dangling in the air with a pillow, waiting, offering; Joe wonders how he’s missed it as he places it under Ben’s hips. He’s malfunctioning a little, pieces in his mind not quite fitting together the way they normally would.
“Joe, c’mere,” Ben pulls Joe down, and his lips offer a welcome distraction. Ben’s fingers tangle in Joe’s hair, and he feels himself unconsciously grinding against Ben’s thigh, his cock hard for ages, and he tries not to chase the feeling. He still wants to fuck Ben, he decides, and maybe slow is good. Ben’s hands guide Joe’s head to the side, and he trails his lips down to Joe’s neck, wet kisses all over — Ben’s never one to leave incriminating evidence.
“What do you want, Joe?” He asks again. It’s an invitation for help, Joe notices, and Brennan’s looking at him all mushy-eyed, too. He isn’t sure why it’s so different from fucking Brennan with Ben watching, but it is — it’s untouched territory they’re entering, Joe isn’t sure if Ben’s ever been fucked. He isn’t quite sure why Ben’s so willing anymore.
“Wanna fuck you,” Joe repeats, because it’s the only three words in his mind, and Ben doesn’t seem amused, but hums. “What are you going to do?” He asks instead, and Joe answers, “Fuck you?” Brennan laughs, and it’s suddenly getting too warm for Joe, but Ben nods. “Bren?” He asks, and Brennan quietens, “The drawer, yeah?” Brennan reaches and fumbles a bit before handing Ben a small tube of lube and a condom. Joe resists the urge to ask why Ben has put these in the hotel nightstand drawer — part of him already knows the answer.
He’s planned for this, of course, he has.
Ben supports himself up, and Joe only watches dumbly as Ben spits on Joe’s cock, but Joe grabs onto Ben’s wrist before he can put the condom on him. “Want to feel you. Fuck you raw.” Joe doesn’t know why the confession is as embarrassing as it is — he glances to the side and sees Brennan’s cock twitching again, wonders if Ben will find a way to relieve him too, because Joe doesn’t think he can put the thoughts together to do it himself. Ben nods, throws the condom to the side, smile never leaving his face as he hands Joe the lube. “How’d you want me?” A thumb grazes his bicep, and Brennan gives him an encouraging smile — it grounds him just enough to answer, “On your back again.”
The sight of Ben opening up to him is dizzying; Joe isn’t sure if he’s ever managed to imagine going this far — part of him has always expected Ben to say no. Brennan shuffles closer, and Ben leans to the side to kiss his thigh. “Awake now?” The hum of agreement comes out high and strained. Joe tries to focus; there’s far too much lube on his hands, and Ben flinches at the cold gel against his hole, but doesn’t say anything as Joe loosely traces circles, body tense, breathing just under control.
“Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever been fucked?”
His face turns sombre for a moment, reminiscing about a time long before Joe and Brennan. Joe’s finger inside snaps him out as he throws his head back at the sudden contact. “Long time ago,” he breathes out, shifting as he adjusts to the contact. “Who?” Brennan chips in, suddenly looking down at Ben and his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Casual stuff, I’m not a big lad — natural that I end up bottoming, really,” Ben says, almost dismissively, a tinge of nervousness, but there’s some hurt mixed in there that Joe’s only just able to pick up — he figures Brennan hears it too. Maybe they’ll bring it up later, maybe they won’t.
“Slow?” And Ben laughs, a hint of pride in his voice, “However slow you need, though we don’t quite have all night.” A little urgency, and Joe takes it as a good sign; Ben wants this — needs this — just as much as he does. His movements aren’t as confident as he wants them to be; too much hesitancy, too loose as he inserts another figure. Ben hums, must recognise his nervousness, because he gently taps on Brennan. “Joe’s good with his fingers, yeah?”
Brennan’s body warms and squirms on the spot, but he takes the hint. “Feels amazing, I-” Brennan chokes on his words, “Could get off his fingers alone if he wanted. Doesn’t even have to touch my cock sometimes.” Joe can’t bite back the groan, feels his dick twitch. Ben’s watching him, eyeing him. Observing, taking notice — it’s overwhelming, and Joe feels his hand starting to move more frantically. He isn’t stopped yet, but he knows he will be soon. Joe considers telling Ben to relax, but it’d seem strangely ironic when he’s the one who’s slowly losing control. He tries to control his breathing and concentrate on being more gentle at opening Ben up. “You’re doing great,” and Joe takes the encouragement, uses a little bit more force. He watches for Ben’s reaction — his breathing speeds up, chest not quite as steady as it was a moment ago.
“Think I’m ready,” Ben says, and Joe reaches for the lube bottle again. He feels a little silly — Ben’s dripping, and his cock is surely slick enough, mix of pre-cum and spit, but he squeezes the bottle anyway. There’s a bit too much strength, and it’s far more than he needs, but Joe tries not to hiss at the cold. Better safe than sorry, Joe figures, he probably only has one chance at this.
Ben’s much tighter than Brennan is, bodies not quite in sync with each other yet. Joe almost pulls away, the fear that he’s hurting Ben begins to wash over, but there’s a gentle grip on his wrist. “You’re doing brilliantly,” Ben pulls, and the position change causes him to groan, but a hand threads through Joe’s hair, and Joe feels himself relax with a sigh. “You’re fucking tight, though,” and Ben laughs before Joe thrusts a little deeper, a choked sound that Joe needs to hear again. “Did tell you it was a long time ago, Joe.” A teasing scold, not quite enough to quell the burn, but it’s soothing.
“Joe,” Brennan whispers, and he looks up, lips crash into his, and the haze descends again, Brennan’s hands on his face, Ben’s still in his hair, and there’s one now sneaking to his back, and Joe feels like a puppet, strands tugged in the right places to get the angles right. There’s impatience pent up in Brennan, pace agonizingly slow for someone on the sidelines, and it’s Ben who pulls Joe’s head away, whines falling from both sets of lips. “Thought you were sleepy?” Ben looks up at Brennan, and his face reddens, “I’m awake now. Want to watch, like the view,” and Joe stares back down at Ben. “We can give Bren what he wants.”
It’s pressuring and slightly unfair on Ben, Joe recognises, but he tells himself that it’s his special day — he can afford to be a bit whiny, his cock warm but hips uncomfortably still, Ben still tight around him. “Both of you could learn to be a bit more patient,” Ben grins, looking up to Brennan’s flustered face for a moment before looking back to Joe, “But we could give what Bren wants, too.” Joe feels his brain falling behind again, and Ben shifts as he holds his breath, and it’s only then that Joe gets the cue. The rhythm’s slow — Joe thinks Ben should be proud if his thoughts are running better than his own — and he sees Brennan shift from the corner of his eye, cock hardening again.
“God, you feel fucking amazing.” Ben’s gaze feels like it’s burning through Joe’s skin, and everything feels unbearably hot all sudden, like he’s struggling to breathe despite his best attempts at regulating his breath. There’s a strained hum from Ben, and Joe isn’t sure when, but when his vision eventually clears, Ben’s face is covered by his forearm, hiding all but his stifled moans. Brennan’s staring at them wide-eyed, jaw dropped enough that he’s nearly drooling. Joe chants Ben’s name, and there’s a brief moment of panic in Ben’s face, arm finally removed, and Joe has a clear view of the way the pieces Ben has carefully constructed of himself slowly untangle and fall apart under him — because of him. “Want to see you,” Joe whines as he quickens the pace — Ben doesn’t have time to react, but tries to make a noise resembling a “Mhm-mm.”
Hands that were gripping sheets travel down Joe’s spine, and every touch feels like a spark that could ignite him into flames. The grasp on his neck pulls him in, and the kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated. Fingers slip into his hair, tracing circles on his scalp as Ben tries to form a sentence without being cut off, “You’re so good at this, fuck-”
Joe manages to drag out a long moan from Ben with a particularly deep thrust, and he feels a jolt of joy — a sense of achievement — at the noise. Blunt fingernails dig into Joe’s back; Joe knows Ben’s head is gone, that Ben, with even an ounce of mental clarity, wouldn’t even dare to think about leaving marks on skin, ones that the dressing room could see on Tuesday, that Danny and Connor will definitely try to coerce the details out of Joe. He tries not to bend Ben too much, knows he isn’t the most flexible, stiffer with age, but he tries to shift Ben on the pillows, make the angles work in his favour.
“Joe,” Ben sounds breathless, voice a little sore from the game, and Joe doesn’t think he’s ever heard his name said more beautifully. “Joe,” he repeats, voice slightly higher, almost whiny, though he’d never admit that out loud. Joe nods, even if Ben isn’t looking, eyes shut as he focuses on controlling his own body. “Bren?” Ben’s eyes open instantly — Joe almost regrets calling out, feels as though he’s broken the mood — but Brennan looks back at him with glassy eyes, and Joe’s eyes drop to his erect-again dick. His throat dries a little, but he swallows, “Can I borrow your hand?”
He stares at Ben’s dick, and Brennan understands instantly. Joe tries to refocus, refocus on Ben, refocus on his pacing, but Brennan’s hands are pacing with him, and it’s hard not to stare; it’s even harder not to lose his own head. But Brennan’s whispering something, and it barely registers as praise in his head, becoming white noise as he tries to chase the feeling. There’s a mantra of expletives that flows out of Ben’s throat when he cums, strings of white paint his stomach, Brennan’s hand, Joe’s stomach. “Fuck, that’s hot,” words leaving Joe’s mouth on his own accord, no longer attached to the thoughts in his head. He’s meant to ask if he could cum inside, but the words slip from his brain before they reach his lips, self-control long gone, and he releases before he fully registers what’s happening.
“Joe?” Brennan asks, and he feels as though he’s devoid of words, so he forces a grunt of acknowledgement. Joe feels exhausted — he’s starting to understand why Ben always tries to steer them away from sex after a game, despite the pent-up adrenaline. He pulls out slowly, and there’s a hand rubbing his back and someone else’s in his hair. He focuses on their touch and not on the fact that he has a sudden urge to collapse, let the world cradle him in his sleep for a while. “Joe,” it’s a much softer whisper from Brennan as he feels his shoulder being grabbed before his back hits the mattress a bit forcefully. He knows he should stay up, help with the clean up, but his brain feels burned out of all thoughts, the crash down hitting harder than expected.
There’s a soft chuckle, and it’s Ben who’s talking, but not to Joe. “Come here, let me help you with that,” Ben gently insists; Brennan just whines in response — Joe thinks he’s pointing out the amount of cum on and in Ben’s body — but Joe still hears shuffling on the bed anyway. He tries to stay awake, the sound of Brennan’s moans keeping him grounded — Ben must be reliving him, Joe realises. Brennan laughs once he’s calmed down from his own release, comments a bit too loudly, given the thickness of the hotel walls, about how there’s so much cum
everywhere
on Ben now. Joe can’t hear if Ben replies, but there’s a little grunt as he hears footsteps walk away to the bathroom.
The next thing he knows is that there’s a warm, damp towel wiping his mouth, and then his sensitive areas. He swears he hears the word “shower,” but no one’s trying to force him up to wash off, as he feels his limbs sink further into the bed. The noises transform into white noise to Joe’s ears, but he barely manages to mumble, “Wipe Ben down first,” and the air around him vibrates with the laughter, but his eyes close before he sees Brennan shake his head affectionately.
Joe feels himself being pulled to the centre of the bed where Ben once was, and there’s a warm body against his back, slithering an arm around his waist. There’s another person who sits on the edge of the bed with a little too much force, causing it to shake, before Joe’s arm is lifted and placed over his waist. He usually isn’t the one sandwiched in the people — it’s Brennan’s spot — and he runs a little warm under the duvet, even without the extra body heat for company. But there’s a warm kiss trailing his back, and someone snuggling against his chest, as he lets himself be carried away into slumber.