Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton was sweating. His forehead was dewy, his pits were moist, and a drop of sweat was slowly sliding down his back, heading toward the waistband of his jeans. It wasn’t even that hot outside, not really; he was just anxious as fuck, and the fact that he was sweating was just making things worse. Considering he’d spent close to two hours meticulously cleaning and preening himself, he was infuriated at that tiny bead of sweat (and all the others) for undoing all of his hard work.
Will looked over at him, knowingly.
“You can still change your mind, you know. It won’t hurt my feelings or anyone else's. This isn’t something you should agree to lightly. If you’re having reservations, you are more than welcome to back out.”
“I know, I know. It’s just...I…” Colin paused to think about how best to articulate what he was feeling. “I don’t want to back out. I’ve thought this through and considered everything very seriously and I definitely want to do it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m really fucking nervous about it. And now I’m sweating buckets which is not helping matters.”
Will paused his steps to reach out and brush some sweat from Colin’s temple, then brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I still wanna fuck you even though you’re a sweaty mess right now, and I know the others will too.”
Colin felt warmth pooling in his belly at the way Will’s mouth had wrapped around his large fingers and the husky note in his voice. They continued their walk in companionable silence, only a few blocks away from their destination now. Instead of focusing on his anxiety about what was about to happen, Colin pondered on the events that had led him here.
He’d met Will in a gay bar (Will’s gay bar, in fact) a couple years ago and the two of them became fast friends. Will was bi, like Colin, but unlike Colin he was happily married. His wife, Alice, was also queer, and they had three beautiful kids together. Which was why when Will approached him three months ago and asked whether or not he might be interested in joining a group of swingers that they were a part of, he was shocked.
It was something that he’d never really considered. Sure he’d seen his fair share of orgies in porn, but he’d never really thought about whether or not that was the kind of thing he’d be interested in doing in real life. But after Will had suggested it, he kind of couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea was definitely appealing. He had no idea who else would be at this gathering, but Will and Alice were both extremely attractive people and the thought of putting his dick in either one of them, let alone both of them, was…well, it was enticing enough to get him to agree to this.
When Colin told Will he might be interested, he was glad to discover that the group had very strict rules in place that everyone was required to follow in order to participate. All the people with a uterus were required to have an IUD which sounded pretty extreme to Colin, but when Will explained that it would be too easy for someone to stop taking the pill or forget to take it, he understood. Everyone was also required to get tested before the big event and provide their host with their paperwork to prove they were clean. With these two rules in place it meant that condoms were optional, and considering condoms could break anyway, it seemed like they had come up with the best possible solution to keep everyone safe and not pregnant.
On the streets of London Colin and Will had arrived at their destination. It was a tall Georgian townhouse owned by an eccentric artist named Henry Granville. He and his husband, Remy, were the hosts of this evening’s soirée. Will clanked the old-fashioned brass knocker against the door a few times and waited. A handsome man with curls similar to Colin’s (though his were lightly speckled with gray) and a charming smile answered the door and ushered them inside.
“Welcome! Will, good to see you.” Henry leaned over and air-kissed both of Will's cheeks like they were in France or something before he turned to Colin. “And this must be Colin,” he said, putting his hand out in front of him. Relieved he wouldn’t have to figure out the logistics of air kisses, Colin placed his palm in Henry’s and shook it firmly. “Very nice to meet you. Will has told us so much about you. Come on in. We’re all meeting in the drawing room.”
They followed their host down the hall, but Colin kept getting distracted along the way by all the beautiful paintings adorning the walls. He was a great appreciator of art, though not much of an artist himself.
“Did you paint all these?”
“Most of them, but not all of them. I like to support other local artists, and my husband has his own artistic tastes. We actually met when Remy came to one of the exhibitions I hosted at my gallery. He may not love my particular artistic style, but he does love me.”
A young man seated in a wheelchair met them in the doorway of the drawing room and frowned at Henry. “That’s not true and he knows it. I do love his style, I just happen to like other styles as well. There is more to art than just impressionism, Henry. You are always painting me out to be the asshole who doesn’t support his husband’s work. I have no idea why I put up with you.”
Henry leaned down to kiss his husband affectionately. “Because you love me.”
Remy rolled his eyes, but smiled warmly at him. “It’s true.”
Colin was surprised to discover that Remy was in a wheelchair because their home was much taller than it was wide. How on earth did he get around? His confusion must have shown on his face because Remy pointed further down the hall and said, “We had a lift put in. It wasn’t cheap, and we had to fight with about a dozen historical societies, but it was worth it to be able to stay here. Henry loves this place, and so do I.”
“It’s a beautiful home,” Colin agreed. When they arrived at the drawing room he got an idea of just how beautiful their home actually was. The room was enormous, with half a dozen sofas, settees, and chaises as well as piles of large inviting cushions scattered around the floor. There was rich, luxurious carpeting, a gleaming crystal chandelier, and a fully-stocked wet bar. The room was currently empty of other people, so Colin and Will must have been the first to arrive. There was a huge spread of tea, cakes, sandwiches, fruits, cheeses, scones, and biscuits set out on the bar and Colin slowly made his way toward the food as Henry began chatting with Will.
“And where is your charming wife? Did she not arrive with you?”
“She’s just dropping the kids off at her mother’s house. She should be along shortly.”
“Lovely.”
Colin had just shoved an entire biscuit into his mouth when Henry turned back to him. “This group we have is fairly established at this point and it’s pretty rare for us to include a new person. Normally I’d give you the rundown of how things are going to work while we wait for the others to arrive, but, as it turns out, you are not the only newcomer to the group tonight, so I’d rather wait for her to arrive so I can give you both the speech.”
Frantically, Colin tried to chew and swallow his mouthful of biscuit so he could respond, but Will spared him by continuing the conversation in his stead.
“Really? Who is it?”
“A friend of Genevieve’s. Her name is Penelope.”
Penelope Featherington was late; which was annoying because Penelope was never late. Her best friend, Genevieve, on the other hand, was late for everything, and that’s why they arrived at the Granville house fifteen minutes late and soaked with sweat. As if she needed another thing to be self-conscious about this evening. Arriving late, sweaty, and out of breath were not a good look, nor boosting her confidence about tonight.
Several months ago when Genevieve had asked if she’d be interested in attending a swinger’s party with her, Penelope had initially said no. Penelope was a monogamist to the core of her being and having sex with a bunch of random strangers felt kind of like the antithesis of monogamy. But after a series of dates, almost relationships, and one one-night-stand that didn’t go anywhere, she started to reconsider.
More than anything else in the world, Penelope wanted to meet her person and fall in love, but it seemed like every time she thought she was getting close, the dream was snatched away again. She’d heard the line “It’s not you, it’s me,” enough times to know, without a doubt, that it definitely was her. So what was her goddamn problem that she couldn’t make a relationship stick?
Genevieve had told her that she got too in her head about things; her mind leaping forward to marriage and babies while she and her date were still eating their salads. It was a fair point, but Penelope didn’t know how to stop her brain into making these gigantic leaps and bounds. Genevieve told her that she just needed to relax into a relationship and be present in the moment, and she tried, she really did. She was just really bad at it, as it turned out
Penelope brought up the swinger's idea with Genevieve again, and she had encouraged it. Genevieve thought it would be a good way for Penelope to have some great sex without getting too in her head about things, because there were no expectations of commitment. It would just be a night full of getting her rocks off in some good stringless fun. And honestly, Penelope could use a relaxing night full of orgasms that shut her brain down, so after some careful consideration, Penelope had finally agreed.
“You nervous?” Genevieve asked, as they approached the door of their destination.
“Yes.”
“You excited?”
Penelope paused, only briefly, before saying in a small voice, “Yes.”
Genevieve snickered and brushed her fingertips along Penelope’s cheeks which had warmed with her admission.
“Mmmmm,” she said admiringly, “I can’t wait to see just how far down that blush of yours goes, Pen.”
Her blush deepened. Thankfully the door opened then to save her from having to respond.
“Sorry we’re late, Hen. It’s my fault.”
“Gen, we pretty much count on that,” he chuckled, then leaned over to warmly exchange bises with Genevieve. He did the same with Penelope who was used to this tradition thanks to her best friend being half-French. “We know you, darling, and we know you have never been on time a single day of your life. We still adore you despite your constant tardiness.”
Penelope smiled at this kind, handsome man. It was true, what he’d said. Despite how irritating it could be that Genevieve was late to everything, it didn’t change the fact that Penelope loved her dearly. Over the years many people had assumed that Penelope and Genevieve were a couple, considering they spent nearly all their time together and were generally more affectionate with each other than most would typically consider “friendly.” They’d tried dating, once, and it was a complete disaster. It became obvious to both of them pretty quickly that while they loved each other, that love was always destined to be platonic.
If Penelope was too in her head all the time, then Genevieve wasn’t in her head enough. It turned out that certain personality traits that may be considered endearing or easily forgiven in a friend, were not so easy to accept in a partner. They’d gone on exactly one date, which had gone well enough, but when they tried to go on a second date, Penelope had ended up sitting on a bench outside of the fancy restaurant she’d made a reservation at, sobbing because Genevieve was over thirty minutes late and they’d given their table away. Their personalities were just too different for them to ever really be more than great friends. Penelope liked order, dependability, and communication, and Genevieve preferred spontaneity, whimsy, and mystery.
Henry ushered them inside and they made their way to the drawing room where the rest of the guests were milling around, chatting, and drinking from what looked like genuine Waterford crystal goblets. Penelope took one look around the room and immediately wanted to bolt. The sticky lock on her front door, her rusty shower head, and her mysteriously stained linoleum floor all told her that she did not belong here amongst plush carpeting, real leather sofas, and…was that a fucking harp in the corner?
She should bail. Run away before any of them had a chance to realize she didn’t belong. Before they could look at her with their condescending, elitist sneers. Panicked, she glanced around the room to see if anyone was glaring at her already when her eyes stopped, completely mesmerized by what she’d found. Dark blue eyes that sparkled in the light of the chandelier (A fucking chandelier, are you kidding me!?). They were enchanting, the way they mimicked the night sky. A deep, welcoming blue with the reflections from the chandelier painting the midnight blue irises with stars. Penelope had never seen a more attractive pair of eyes in her life, she was certain.
Forcefully, she tore her gaze away from the eyes so that she could get a better look at their owner. She was pleased to discover that the face that housed those eyes was just as captivating as his irises. A short, neatly trimmed beard, full pink lips (that needed a little bit of chapstick, if she was being honest), one eyebrow with a curved silver piercing, the other with a shaved eyebrow slit, a small silver hoop in one nostril, and another dangling from his pointy, elvin ear.
Penelope moved her eyes from his face to drink in the rest of him. Tall, tan, with chestnut curls piled on top of his head. One of those curls had fallen across his forehead and Penelope longed to brush that lone curl back and run her fingers through his soft-looking hair. He was wearing black skinny jeans that were purposefully ripped and threadbare as well as a white linen shirt where she could just see the edges of a tattoo peeking out from the three buttons he’d left undone.
There was no question about it, she was just eye-fucking him at this point. Her eyes raked over his body greedily, and all of a sudden she was much less nervous about tonight. If agreeing to an orgy meant she got to fuck this living, breathing Adonis, then she would happily participate in one every day for the rest of her life. She would join the frequent fuckers rewards program, get the punch card, and sign up for the monthly subscription. Whatever it took. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning out loud. God, she wanted to climb him like a tree.
“Welcome, everyone! We’re so glad you all could make it this evening.”
Henry’s voice calling out to the room brought her back to herself and she regretfully looked away from the Greek God standing by the biscuits to focus on the hosts of the evening.
“A few rules and introductions before we get started, as we’ve got a couple newcomers with us tonight. Firstly, I have everyone’s paperwork in this folder here if anyone wants to look through it for reassurance, but I can confirm that everyone’s tests came back clean and that Miss Featherington does have an IUD in place.”
Penelope probably looked like a fucking tomato at this point, as another flush of heat warmed her cheeks.
“We have a bowl of condoms here on the side table if anyone wants to use them and a rubbish bin by the door for disposal. All toys, lube, clean flannels, and other goodies can be found in the plastic bin by the settee over there. They’ve all been cleaned and sanitized thoroughly. Drop used toys and flannels in the empty bin. Don’t worry about making a mess. Our staff is extremely thorough and extremely well paid. You are welcome to refuel with any food or drink over at the wet bar. I’m sure everyone will need to take some breaks throughout the course of the evening.”
A drink would not help Penelope’s flushed complexion, but it might loosen her up a bit. Maybe she’ll start there.
“Have I forgotten anything before I get to the rules?” he asked, looking toward his husband.
“The phones,” Remy replied.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be coming around in a moment to collect everyone’s phones to put in the safe because pictures and videos are strictly prohibited. We have a landline over there in case of emergencies. Lastly, the most important rules. First, everyone will be staying in this room for the duration of the evening. No couples or groups sneaking off. There is a bathroom through that door there, that everyone is welcome to use. As always, these nights are about sharing, which brings me to my next point. If you are prone to jealousy and can’t share your partner with the rest of the group, then I’ll have to ask you to leave. This is not the place for you. And finally, no means no, and stop means stop. If at any point any member of the group asks you to stop what you’re doing, you will stop, do you understand me?”
There were murmured assents from around the room. Damn. Henry had been a jovial and laid-back guy ever since she walked in the door, but he looked very serious right now. Penelope was glad for these rules. It felt like Henry and Remy really cared about everyone’s safety, health, and consent. If she was ever going to join an orgy, she was glad it was this one. She had a feeling that most gatherings of this sort were not nearly as thorough.
“Now for the introductions. I’m Henry and this is my husband Remy. Over here we have Paul, Tilley, and Edwina. Paul and Tilley use they/them pronouns, by the way. Over there is Genevieve and one of our newcomers tonight, Penelope. And over by the refreshments we have husband and wife, Will and Alice. And Will’s friend, Colin, is our other newcomer.”
Colin. What a beautiful name. She was grateful that this Sports Illustrated cover model had a moanable name. Imagine someone with that body, that face, and those eyes having a name like Arnold or something. Gross. Colin, on the other hand, rolled deliciously off the tongue. Kind of like how Penelope wanted to roll her tongue over his—
“Last, but not least, have fun!”
Henry started making his way around the room to collect everyone’s phones, and the rest of the group, having been dismissed, picked up their conversations where they’d left off.
“Hey, I think I’m going to grab a drink from the bar. Do you want anything?”
“Yes, please! Old Fashioned on the rocks,” Genevieve said, gratefully.
“You got it.”
“Thanks, love.”
Penelope couldn’t help but notice that People’s Sexiest Man Alive 2025 was still milling about by the wet bar. She wasn’t sure if she was at ease enough to interact with His Royal Hotness yet, but she really wanted that drink, so she took a deep breath and made her way across the room.