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“Are you alright?” Aldo asks. “Are you sure about this? There’s no pressure.”
“Yes,” Vincent says, “I’m sure.”
It’s eight months after they started dating, six weeks after Aldo first broached the topic of sex, and two hours after dinner. Vincent is sure. He has something to confess, but he is sure. The bedroom is dimly lit and warm, and Thomas’ eyes are luminous like moonstones.
Aldo smiles at him, and squeezes his hand. “Okay.”
Thomas undoes the buttons of Aldo’s cassock with practiced hands. The two of them have privately slept together for some years. Vincent feels spectacularly grateful they see fit to invite him in. Underneath, they are both wearing cotton shirts and suit trousers. Vincent takes a moment to appreciate the soft fabric sliding over their chests, then they’re both naked apart from their boxers. He has never seen a man’s body other than his own. The thick, dark hair dispersed over Aldo’s chest surprises him. Thomas is pale and heavily freckled.
Vincent reaches out a curious hand, and feels the burn scars over Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas shudders, but obligingly lets him look. Aldo comes up behind Vincent. His warm hands run up and down Vincent’s chest and ribs, feeling him up through the layers of fabric.
Vincent, with his unsteady, chaste hands, hasn’t started to undress himself yet. Thomas reaches for him too, takes apart his cassock. Thirty-three buttons undone just like that, left on the floor. After that, Aldo and Thomas push him onto the mattress. Aldo’s hands slide up Vincent’s hips, fiddling with his trouser buttons and belt. Vincent lifts his upper back up to help. Aldo abandons the garment somewhere by the side of the bed.
Dios, Aldo’s beautiful. Vincent pulls him into another kiss. It’s not their first by a longshot, but it is the first time they’ve both been undressed like this. The difference makes it new, exciting, makes a shiver run up Vincent’s spine.
Thomas shifts up the bed to whisper into his ear. “My dear Vincent,” he whispers, “How are you feeling?”
“Perfect,” Vincent says. He hesitates. “Nervous.” He knows what comes next, and it worries him, though perhaps not for the reasons Thomas and Aldo would think.
Aldo noses at his neck, kissing up to his collarbone. He bites a mark into Vincent’s shoulder, making Vincent squirm and gasp. When he draws back, he says, “Don’t be nervous.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Thomas agrees, “Aldo and I are here with you, after all.”
Aldo comes back to kiss his mouth. His hands settle on Vincent’s hips, curling into the band of his underwear and rubbing along his hipbones. “You’re so gorgeous,” Aldo says.
Vincent swallows. He has to tell them. He tries to meet Aldo’s happy gaze, but ends up skittering away. “I can’t orgasm,” he blurts.
Aldo pauses, hands still hooked around the elastic of Vincent’s underwear. “You don’t masturbate? That’s - that’s fine.”
“No,” Vincent says. He clears his throat, and Aldo pulls his hands back, sitting on his knees. Vincent misses the warmth immediately. He hopes Aldo will come back after this. “Ah, I don’t masturbate. But I also … can’t orgasm. Because of my condition. It’s never worked when I’ve tried.”
He watches as Thomas glances confusedly at Aldo. Maybe he does not understand.
Aldo seems to internally pick through a few options of what to say, then lands on, “Does touching yourself still feel good?”
“I don’t know,” Vincent says.
He stopped touching himself about twenty years ago. He vaguely remembers his stomach and legs cramping, his sore fingers, frustrated tears. At the time, he had thought it was a punishment for attempting to break his chastity vows; now, having learnt of his sex, he realises it is most likely a deformation of his body. This is harder to speak about than he expected.
He swallows, and rambles on, “I wanted you to know. But it won’t be a problem. I’m happy to - to just watch you two, or to help out somehow. And if it’s a deal-breaker, I understand. I hope we can still be friends.”
Thomas looks stunned. Aldo’s brow has furrowed.
Vincent’s heart sinks. He does not know what he will do if they kick him out. It’s completely reasonable if they don’t want you as a partner anymore, he reminds himself, and you are lucky to count them as friends. Most people will not want someone who is dysfunctional like this; you will not hold this against them. It will be okay. You will manage by yourself.
“Vincent,” Aldo says, “Of course it’s not a deal-breaker. But …”
“I can do other things,” Vincent adds, desperately, before Aldo tells him to leave their marital bed. “With my mouth. And my hands. I can learn how to do it, I’m sure.”
“If you want to,” Aldo says, glancing at Thomas, “And if you don’t want to have any sex at all, that’s perfectly fine. We can still be together. But if you’re happy to try, then everything can still feel good with orgasming. Penetration - and being penetrated - can still happen. And hand and mouth things, like you said. There’s endless options, if you’re interested.”
Vincent breathes out in relief. He could cry from gratitude. “Yes. Please.”
Thomas squeezes Vincent’s hand. “I have erectile dysfunction, sometimes. So I have some insight. I know it’s not the same, but …”
“No, I appreciate you saying that,” Vincent says. He has wet eyes, he realises. Perhaps this has been weighing on him more than he thought. “Thank you.”
Aldo shuffles up the bed to sit next to him, somewhat awkward. He is still getting used to being affectionate in an earnest way. But he takes Vincent’s other hand, so Vincent is held between the two of them. “Is it something you’ve spoken to a doctor about?”
“No,” Vincent says, cringing internally at the idea.
“You have a lot of doctors now,” Aldo says, “We can go with you to see someone, if you’d like.”
“I don’t think the Pope can take his Secretary of State and Dean to an appointment about orgasming,” Vincent says. It’s quite funny, and his mouth twitches with a smile.
Aldo snickers. “The doctors have seen a lot worse in the Vatican.”
Thomas snorts. “You should have seen the STI outbreak among the bishops a few years ago. Don’t worry, they’re very discreet.”
Vincent considers this. If Aldo and Thomas believe the doctor is confidential, then Vincent trusts them. But … “I think it might just be impossible,” Vincent says. “I’m fifty-four. I think if it was going to happen by now, it would have.”
“I didn’t have an orgasm till I was forty-six,” Thomas says. He looks down at his lap for a moment, where he holds Vincent’s hand. “Not while I was awake, anyway. And Aldo had to show me how.”
“Right. And there’s toys, you know,” Aldo says, “Erotica. Things you might not have tried. And sex with a partner can be different from by yourself. You might find things you like more. Or you could try medications.”
Vincent feels a lump in his throat. “I feel that you’re going to be disappointed when I still can’t do it.”
“I would never be disappointed with you,” Aldo says, “And I think we could have a lot of fun finding out, whether it happens or not.”
Vincent smiles. He is feeling a bit overwhelmed, so he closes his eyes and presses his face to Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas smoothes over his hair, and Aldo squeezes his hand reassuringly.
“Okay,” Vincent says. “I’d like that.”
Aldo hums. “Can I try touching you now?”
Vincent nods. Aldo presses him back against the mattress again. There’s a bit of shuffling around, and Thomas ends up behind Vincent, his chest against his back and his legs around him.
Aldo carefully kisses his way down Vincent’s stomach. From this alone, Vincent squirms a bit, ticklish. Aldo licks his navel, and Vincent makes a hysterical, nervous laughing sound. He can tell Thomas is smiling behind him, and he feels it when Thomas leans down to kiss his neck.
Aldo’s hands slide back over Vincent’s boxers. He glances up for confirmation, then carefully eases them off. His big, brown eyes look curiously over Vincent. There is the normal male genitalia, slightly smaller than usual, then hidden in the folds of his perineum, a small opening. The whole area feels warm and flushed now, with Aldo considering it. The hair is soft and dark and curly when Aldo runs his fingers through it, almost petting it.
“You’re very beautiful,” Thomas says, behind him, and Aldo hums in agreement.
“Thank you,” Vincent says, not sure he agrees. “You are too.”
Aldo kisses along the inside of his thighs first, which makes Vincent quiver and clutch at Thomas’ hands. If Aldo is troubled by the strangeness of Vincent, or the small scars hidden between his legs, he does not express it. Instead, he seems almost reverent, nuzzling against the skin.
Aldo’s tongue carefully licks over Vincent’s cock. When Vincent gasps, he tries again, lapping over the sensitive glands.
After a few seconds of this, Aldo takes him into his mouth. Vincent exhales sharply, and Thomas is suddenly holding his hips down so he doesn’t buck into Aldo’s mouth. Aldo’s hot tongue swirls around. He hums, making his mouth vibrate.
“Aldo -” Vincent wheezes.
“He’s very good, isn’t he?” Thomas says, admiringly. His thumbs rub over Vincent’s hips. “You have to stay still so you don’t hurt him, though.”
Vincent nods weakly, and Aldo sucks him, swallowing so it is wet and slick. He looks up at Vincent through his long eyelashes, then begins to bob his head back and forth. Vincent has to shut his eyes and claw at the bedsheets, his entire world narrowing down to the wet heat between his legs. An unfamiliar warmth begins lower in his stomach, and he tenses up uncertainly. Aldo continues, doing some kind of trick with his tongue that makes Vincent moan a little.
His stomach has begun to cramp. It all hurts, uncomfortable and painful and overstimulating. Vincent makes a frustrated sound, and Aldo pulls off. He wipes off his mouth.
“Not good?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“No,” Vincent says. He feels shame twist horribly in his stomach. “It was perfect. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Aldo says. “I’m glad you liked it at first. Can I try something else?”
Vincent nods, and Aldo smiles. He lowers himself back down, but this time focuses on the small, hidden entrance between Vincent’s legs.
Vincent exhales shakily. Relax, he thinks, he’s trying to do something nice for you. Just relax. He feels his dick twitch. Please work. Please. He’s so handsome. Please work for him. They’re not going to want you if you don’t work properly.
Thomas runs his hands over Vincent’s stomach. “It’s only our first time,” he says, like he’s read Vincent’s mind, “It’s just about trying things out.”
Right. Vincent bites his lip. “Okay.”
“Mm,” Aldo says, distracted. Vincent dares to look down, and he sees that Aldo’s eyes are wide and dark. One of his fingers carefully traces the outer folds of his entrance, which have become wet and pink. “Can I touch inside here?”
“You can,” Vincent says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. He has never inserted anything inside himself, only ever grazing his hands over the outer area. “But I’ve never …”
“Right,” Aldo says, “Just tell me or Thomas if it doesn’t feel good, then.”
Thomas strokes a calming hand over Vincent’s prominent ribs. “Aldo is very talented at this,” he says. “He used to practice on fruit. And on Giulio.”
“Oh, don’t tell him that,” Aldo mutters. He drags his tongue over Vincent’s folds, tasting the slick there.
Vincent thinks about asking him what he was doing to fruit and Cardinal Sabbadin, but then Aldo’s pinky shallowly dips inside of him, only a few millimetres. He flinches, unsure of the sensation, and Thomas’ hands slide back to hips to keep him still.
Aldo pauses. “Bad?”
“No,” Vincent says, “Just go slow, please.”
“Of course,” Aldo agrees. His finger withdraws, and returns to petting his folds, sometimes drifting over to touch his cock. Thomas murmurs happy, sweet nothings into his ear, varyingly in Spanish and English.
After a few minutes of this, Vincent realises he has started to fidget. He can feel wetness between his thighs, and he instinctively pulls his legs further open, almost presenting himself to Aldo. He makes a little moaning sound when Aldo laps at his entrance, tongue barely dipping in. Aldo smiles against him, then his pinky returns. It is wet from Aldo’s mouth and Vincent’s own slick, and very, very slowly, Aldo pushes it inside.
Vincent exhales, chest trembling. He can feel every millimetre of it, opening something new and secret inside of him. Then Aldo curls the finger, and Vincent jolts as it scrapes against something sacred.
“There we go,” Aldo murmurs. He does not move his pinky other than very light presses against Vincent’s inner walls, and returns his mouth to idly kissing and licking his dick.
Vincent shifts his hips around, and finds he wants to rock against the feeling. He feels himself tightening, a slight heat in his lower stomach. It starts to crescendo, then abruptly fades, disappearing into a vaguely painful and unpleasant sensation.
“Oh,” Vincent says. His eyes burn. “Can you - Aldo, can you stop, please -”
Aldo withdraws at once. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Vincent says, “You’re great. It just doesn’t work, like I said.”
“Hm,” Aldo says, doubtfully. “We’ll see. Give me a few months before you come to any conclusions, alright?”
“Alright,” Vincent says, weakly, feeling vaguely ashamed.
Aldo crawls back up the bed and kisses him. It's more passionate and forceful than Vincent was expecting, and he makes a surprised yelping sound. “We’ll have fun either way,” Aldo promises.
Thomas’ hand strokes Vincent’s hair gently, and he says to Aldo, “Can I take care of you, my dear?”
“Together?” Aldo offers.
“Sounds perfect.”
Aldo grins and flops back onto the bed. Vincent gets up so Thomas can free himself, and he’s a bit surprised when Thomas lays himself on his side next to Aldo. He watches curiously as they fumble with their underwear, pulling out their cocks. Thomas is a little longer and thicker. Aldo’s is a bit darker, with more hair around the base. Their hands meet in the middle and press the underside of the two dicks together. Vincent blushes at the sight, despite everything. Then Thomas begins to rub himself up and down Aldo, so they are sliding against one another.
Vincent tucks his head into his knees, content to watch. Then one of Aldo’s hands reaches out, pulling him closer.
“Can he go in the middle?” Thomas asks.
“Yes, I think so,” Aldo says.
They quickly rearrange themselves so Vincent’s back is pressed flat to the mattress, and Aldo and Thomas lie either side of him. To get close enough together, they’re basically lying on top of him, but Vincent likes the pressure, likes the weight.
Thomas clears his throat. “Do you want to, ah, join in -”
Vincent shakes his head quickly. The idea of his cock being touched right now is too much. But he wraps his hand around Aldo’s and Thomas’, so he can feel the rub of them against each other, helping with the warmth and tightness.
“That’s good,” Aldo moans.
Vincent feels as they shift back and forth, hips twitching, pre-cum dripping over his hand and onto his stomach. Thomas comes first, almost perfectly silent, then Aldo with a muffled cry a few seconds later. Their cum ends up mostly coated over Vincent’s lower belly, and he blushes again at the sight of it dripping towards his cunt.
“Sorry,” Aldo says, “I’ll get a towel.”
He hops up, completely unashamed of his nudity. Thomas is a little more self-conscious, and pulls his legs together so he’s partially hidden.
“Was that alright for you?” he asks.
“It was great,” Vincent answers, honestly. “I’m sorry I can’t quite do everything.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Thomas chastises him, “And as Aldo says, we will see.”
Vincent smiles. “Okay.”
Aldo appears again, and he carefully wipes Vincent and Thomas clean with a damp cloth. He rummages around in his drawers for a moment, and offers them both pairs of loose boxer shorts. Vincent slides them on gratefully, needing some modesty after all that.
He gets up to brush his teeth, hearing Thomas and Aldo bicker in the bedroom. In the mirror, he looks a bit strange: hair mussed, eyes wet, a hickey on his neck. For a moment, he finds he does not mind what he sees - a man in love, who does not quite know how his body works, but may soon find out.
Aldo and Thomas are waiting for him in bed, and he crawls in between them and under the blanket. Thomas kisses his brow, and Aldo pulls him close so his back is pressed to his chest.
“Goodnight,” Vincent whispers.
“Goodnight,” Aldo says, with a comforting squeeze of his hip.