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“Hey, Agatha!” calls Gil from farther down the cluttered corridor. “Found another door!”
Tarvek brushes aside some alarmingly large cobwebs and makes his way toward Gil. Agatha—also, apparently, dealing with the cobwebs—meets him halfway. When they reach Gil, he’s hauling an oversized crate labeled “AMUSINGLY FRAGILE” away from what is, indeed, a door. A concerningly reinforced door.
There’s a small plaque on it, covered by another cobweb. “Ugh,” says Agatha, and brushes it away, then scrubs her hand on her coat. “Storage,” she reads.
They all look at it for a moment.
“Castle?” calls Agatha. “What’s in there?”
There’s no answer.
“Castle?”
“Judging by the hallway, I’m betting giant spiders,” says Gil, making a face.
Tarvek takes a moment to analyze the hinge mechanism and the all-but-imperceptible vibration that’s suddenly started up in the floor. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I would bet a not-insignificant amount of money that it’s full of clanks.” He puts a hand on the door, which is also vibrating slightly. “And presumably, murderous clanks that will attack us the second we open the door.”
“Money’s boring,” says Gil, grinning. “Winner gets to decide what we get up to tonight.”
“You’re assuming we’ll be up to doing anything after dealing with whatever’s in—”
Gil flings the door open, and a chorus of klaxons go off. A flurry of bright red pinprick lights appear in the darkness, and then a light floods the chamber, revealing four lines of four identical, ten-foot-tall clanks.
“I told you so!” Tarvek shouts, ducking a shot from one of them, as Gil launches himself at the nearest one.
As Tarvek snags a hammer from a long-abandoned workbench near the door, Agatha yanks her death ray from its holster. “Why—didn’t—you tell us—about this?” she shouts in the general direction of the Castle, punctuating it with several well-aimed blasts.
“It’s more fun this way!” crows the Castle. “And besides, no one’s played with them since your great-great-grandfather’s day!”
“I wouldn’t call this playing!” Gil shouts, landing a kick on an arm joint and sending a blast askew into the ceiling. Tarvek slides in behind the lurching clank and brings the hammer down on its head. There’s a metallic crunching and a shower of sparks, and he ducks out of the way before it crashes back down.
The rest is a blur of smoke and minor explosions. When the last one falls, Agatha pushes it over with her foot. “These aren’t even a particularly interesting design,” she says. “But I can’t say I would rather have had the giant spiders.”
“Oh, those are in the other storage closet on this floor! They live in the rafters!”
“Lovely,” she groans. “I think we’ll save them for tomorrow.”
“You’ve still got spiderweb in your hair,” says Agatha. “Hold still.”
Tarvek does, letting her pull the bits of web free. She finishes, then sinks her hand deeper into his hair to scratch his scalp, and he all but melts, closing his eyes and sighing. “Hmm, do you like that?” she asks, sounding fond.
“You already know he does,” says Gil, who’s currently rinsing his own hair. They’d made it out of the Forgotten Green Corridor completely covered in an unpleasant combination of cobwebs, questionable dust, and engine grease, and had gone straight for the bath.
“Hey, you like it, too. Come here,” she says with a smile. He grins back, hair dripping into his face, and leans toward her. Tarvek lets his eyes drift closed again, and a few long, lovely moments pass like that—all hot water and comforting presences and the slow stroke of Agatha’s hand against his head.
“I do seem to remember,” says Agatha after a little while, “that you won a bet, Tarvek.”
Her words take a second to register. “Hmm?” He blinks and sits up, looking over at her. “Oh. Right.”
“So what are we doing tonight?” she asks.
He gathers himself enough to start thinking through possibilities. One comes to the forefront quickly. “I want you both at once,” he says. “Pin me in between you. And—”
“And?”
“Can we try—can you blindfold me?”
“Oh! Of course,” she says, looking a little startled, but mostly pleased. Then she grins. “I’m assuming you don’t want to try that in the bathtub?”
He chuckles. So does Gil. “You’d be correct.”
They finish washing up. If it’s a little more heated than it was before, if Tarvek can’t look away from either of them as they climb out of the bath and stretch, well, that’s hardly a surprise.
Agatha slips on her dressing gown and braids her hair, and Gil dries off and wraps a towel around his waist. Tarvek finds his glasses first and his dressing gown second, and he takes a moment to run a comb through his hair—for all the good it’ll do, given what they have planned.
He follows them both out into the bedroom. Agatha immediately disappears into the closet, emerging a minute later with something in her hands. Tarvek recognizes it quickly as a sash from one of her gowns—emerald green silk, edged with delicate cream lace. His face goes warm as she hands it to him. “How about this?” she asks.
He turns it over in his hands. “It’s good,” he says, then passes it back to her. She smiles, and it’s sweet and fiery and sends a sharp, sudden bolt of arousal straight through him, even before she pushes herself up on her toes and kisses him soundly, endlessly.
“Hey,” says Gil. “Share.”
Agatha breaks away from Tarvek, laughing, and leans up to kiss Gil. “He’s all yours for the moment,” she says with a grin, stepping away from the two of them. Tarvek can feel her eyes on them—which is hardly unwelcome—as Gil pulls him in by the shoulders for a kiss as lingering as Agatha’s. In the midst of it, Tarvek pushes the towel from Gil’s hips, earning a deep noise of approval and hands at the belt of his dressing gown immediately.
When they separate, he shrugs the robe fully from his shoulders and shivers a bit at the chill. Agatha is perched on the edge of the bed, still watching them, cheeks gone faintly, gorgeously pink. “You can keep going if you like,” she says cheerfully.
“Oh,” says Gil. “Um.”
“If we’d rather move on to the main event, that’s fine too.” She reaches a hand out toward each of them, then pulls them toward the bed.
When they get themselves untangled, Tarvek lets them position him in the middle of the bed, lets Agatha lift away his glasses. He already feels like he’s on the edge of floating, his brainpower disappearing into a heady mix of arousal and anticipation and letting them take over.
“This is still good?” Agatha holds out the sash.
“Yes, please,” he breathes.
She smiles at him, then leans in and wraps it around his head. It’s broad enough that, as she ties it, the slivers of light at top and bottom disappear, and he’s plunged into the darkness he’d asked for. The sensations, however soft, of Agatha against him are suddenly amplified, down to the brush of her arm against his cheek as she finishes the knot, down to the shiver that goes through him when she slides back and settles herself against his side. The bed shifts and creaks, and Gil presses in on his other side.
They kiss him until he’s delirious with it, taking turns, shifting him between them—at first maddeningly gentle and then, all at once, less so. He finds himself gasping helplessly into Gil’s mouth as Agatha bites a mark into his shoulder. It’ll be there for days, he thinks dizzily. Another way to be hers, to be theirs.
Gil breaks the kiss. Tarvek can feel Agatha still and guesses she’s looking over his shoulder, toward him. “I think we might’ve tormented him long enough,” Gil says, with a smile in his voice.
“Hmm, maybe.”
Gil’s broad hand settles on Tarvek’s hip and squeezes. “Ready to keep going?” he asks.
“Please,” he pants.
“I suppose we can’t argue with that.” He pulls away from Tarvek, leaving a sudden chill in the absence of his warm weight. The mattress dips, and then he’s gone from Tarvek’s perception.
There’s movement at his other side, and Agatha’s there, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “I’ll be right back, too,” she says, giving his hand a squeeze—and then she’s gone too, off the other side of the bed. And then there’s—nothing that he can sense.
The anxiety hits out of nowhere, a sudden, sheer, overwhelming wave closing around his chest, even though they must still be there, just out of his reach—
His heart is pounding in his ears. He can’t hear them over it.
This is ridiculous, he tries to tell himself. They’re five feet away, they must be.
It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work at all.
“Yellow,” he gasps. “Yellow.”
And then suddenly he can hear them, and the bed’s moving again on both sides, and he blinks at the sudden flood of light as Gil pulls the blindfold off. Agatha is there a fraction of a second later, kneeling on his other side, reaching for his hands. “What’s wrong?” she asks, frantically. “What did we do?”
He takes a couple of deep breaths. It’s starting to recede. “You didn’t—you didn’t do anything. I just—” Another deep breath, another moment. “It would seem that I need to know where you are.” He adds, with a little bit of hesitance, “I actually… I actually really loved it. As long as I knew where you were.”
Agatha looks mostly relieved, but there’s still worry in her face as she brushes his hair from his brow, then wraps her arms around him. He sinks into the hug, then sighs in something like relief as Gil wraps himself around his back, too. For a while they just hold him, and he lets them, lets his pulse return to normal, lets his breathing slow.
“We can stop,” says Agatha, pulling back just enough to see him. “It’s whatever you need.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he says. “I’d—I’d like to keep going.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods, then picks up the sash from where it fell onto the bed. “I want to try again. I just…” He swallows and hands it to her. “I just need one of you to be touching me.”
“If anything happens…” she begins, her voice full of worry.
“I’ll tell you.”
“You’re absolutely certain?” asks Gil, tightening his arms around Tarvek.
“Absolutely certain.”
The two of them glance at each other over Tarvek’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure one of us is touching you,” says Agatha firmly. “And you’ll let us know if anything goes wrong?”
He nods, and then Agatha leans in and re-ties the blindfold. He shivers a little as it goes dark around him. “That’s alright?” Agatha asks, as he feels her move back. Gil’s arms are still tight around him.
“Very good,” he says, and although he isn’t back in the delirious drifting feeling, not yet, the tension is evaporating quickly, and he’s relaxing against Gil’s chest before he realizes it.
“Alright,” says Agatha. “How should we do this?”
Gil shifts a little and unwraps one arm. “You over there, and we can roll him onto his stomach, and I’ll be behind him?”
“I’m right here,” Tarvek murmurs, on principle.
“And how do you feel about that idea?”
“Good,” he confirms.
There’s some shuffling, and the mattress moves. Agatha’s legs brush against Tarvek as she settles herself toward the head of the bed, and then Gil pushes him gently over. He follows the push, rolling onto his stomach, and lands atop Agatha. She catches him, pulling him in place, and he presses his face into the crook of her neck and just breathes.
Gil still has a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got him?” he asks.
Agatha must nod, because Gil’s hand disappears, and then he’s moving again. Tarvek, even with his mind as fuzzy as it’s becoming, can guess why.
“You stil want both of us?” Agatha says, running a hand down his back. He nods against her neck, starting to drift in it again, craving more. He follows her lead easily when she moves him over her, then whines aloud when she wraps a hand around him and gives a few slow strokes.
Her hand is gone just as suddenly, and he makes another noise at that. She chuckles and then pulls him forward. He lets her take the lead getting them aligned, and he waits for a moment that seems to stretch on until she urges him forward and in. “Agatha,” he gasps into her shoulder, and she strokes his hair in response.
The bed moves behind him, and then Gil’s there. There’s a soft noise from Agatha, followed by a sudden weight on Tarvek’s back as Gil leans over him to kiss her. It’s—good, being trapped between them like this, endlessly, desperately good. Then Gil’s weight is gone, and he moves til he’s just behind Tarvek.
“You’re good?” Gil asks. Tarvek manages something in the affirmative; it must resemble “yes” closely enough that Gil adjusts his positioning. Tarvek, his thoughts foggy but still there, struggles to keep his hips still, then cries out as slick fingers press inside him, spreading him open with intent. He loses time, a little, and only surfaces when Gil asks, “You’re still good?”
“Yes,” he manages, no more coherent than the last time, and he isn’t really cognizant of the noise he makes when Gil presses in.
They start to move together, Gil’s momentum driving Tarvek forward, and it’s slow. Maddeningly, dizzyingly, desperately slow, with both of them wrapped around him, with anything close to a thought disappearing like sand through his fingers. For all its slowness it builds quickly, overwhelmingly, and with what feels like no warning he’s muffling sounds into Agatha’s shoulder as he falls to shuddering pieces between them.
Gil keeps going, a little less slow now, and Tarvek drifts happily in his haze through the rest of it, through Gil’s hands tightening hard on his hips, through his own shuddering finish. He drifts through Gil rolling off him, through Agatha squirming out from under him with a kiss to his cheek. She slips off the blindfold, and even from face-down in the pillows, the light is sudden and sharp. He shuts his eyes against it, and Agatha runs a hand down his back. “You’re good?”
“I love you,” he manages. It’s the only thing in his head. “I love you both.”
“I love you, too,” she says, “but that’s not what I asked.”
“‘M good. Don’t want to move.”
She laughs, then gasps a little as Gil catches her and gives her a gentle push back into the pillows next to Tarvek. “Hey!” she says, laughing again.
“You didn’t—”
“I didn’t.”
“I assume you want to?”
“You’re hardly getting out of here until I do,” she says, a smile in her voice. “I—ah!” She catches Tarvek’s hand as Gil gets to work, and still half in a haze, Tarvek grins irrepressibly into the pillows.