This got ... long. Keywords: underage, lots of sex, rimming, barebacking, sex toys, spitroasting, praise, too much incidental French. Victor is 24, Chris 22, young Victor 16.

~

Victor knows before the knock comes. He can't explain it, he can't understand it. But when Chris swears and leans forward for one more kiss, Victor looks past his shoulder, following the pull in his chest. When Chris heads down the hallway, red satin robe swirling around his thighs, Victor follows.

And when Chris opens the door, Victor meets his own eyes.

Sixteen, that's how old he is. Standing in the hallway with his hair spilling over his shoulders. Thin cotton t-shirt and drawstring pants and arms wrapped around his chest. Bare feet. Puzzled face.

"I'm dreaming," he says, his voice pitched high.

"My god," Chris says. He looks back at Victor. "Is that you?"

Victor pushes past Chris and holds out his hand. "We're both dreaming." But when those fingers grasp his own, cold and clutching and alive, he knows it's real. He's holding his own hand, looking into his own eyes. "Come in," is all he finds to say.

The boy walks into his arms. He's not quite as tall as Victor is now, a few centimetres yet to go, but his cheek presses against Victor's cheek and his hands lock around Victor's waist. "I'm dreaming," he says again and his breath is warm against Victor's neck.

"You're dreaming," Victor murmurs. He presses the boy closer, hands slipping over the silky hair he used to take so much trouble over. There's a cord connecting them, he can almost see it, a glowing line looped chest to chest.

"Interesting." Chris reaches out and touches the boy's hair, rubbing the ends of the strands between his finger and thumb. "I was always sorry you cut it, mon ami." He puts his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Mes amis."

The boy's arms tighten and he looks around at Chris, eyes widening. "Who–"

"It's all right," Victor says. He shoots Chris a look and Chris lets his hand fall away. "Chris is a friend of mine. Of ours."

"Just a friend?" Chris presses his hand over his heart. "So cold, Victor." He looks down at the boy, eyes gleaming. "You weren't always so cold."

"You weren't always such an ass." Victor pulls back, hands still on the boy's shoulders. "It's okay," he tells him. "Vitya, it's okay."

"Come sit down." Chris leads them back into his living room and Victor steers Vitya to the couch. The lights are still low and Chris doesn't move to turn them up. Victor keeps his arm around Vitya's shoulders as they sink back against the cushions.

"You can stay with us," Victor says and he feels Vitya relax under his arm.

"I'll get another glass." Chris leaves the room, meeting Victor's eyes over his shoulder as he goes.

Vitya looks around the room. "You live here?" He pushes back his hair with an unconscious gesture so familiar Victor almost makes it himself.

"Chris does. I'm visiting." The first weekend in over a month and they had only just got started when the knock came. Victor still wonders if this is a dream but when he looks around the room, nothing changes, not the hands on the clock, not the words on the cover of Chris's book.

Chris crosses behind them and sets a wine glass down on the coffee table. He freshens their glasses and pours out for Vitya, a Barolo with the same bright gleam as his robe. "Santé!" he says and drinks.

Victor just touches his glass to his lips but Vitya takes a long swallow, only stopping to smell the wine after he's finished most of it.

"How did you get here?" Chris sits down on Vitya's other side.

"I was in bed." Vitya looks down at his glass, swirling what wine is left. "And then I was outside your door." He turns to Victor. "You're..." He switches to Russian. "You're me. I'm you."

Victor nods. "I don't understand, but I can feel it's true."

"Were you doing anything in bed?" Chris asks.

Vitya blushes.

"Nothing to blush about, little one," Chris says. "I was doing that myself last night."

"Not this morning?" Victor says. "Not this afternoon?"

"Saving myself for you, mon chéri." Chris leans back and tips his chin up, showing Victor the line of his neck and jaw.

"You were..." Vitya trails off. The flush on his face doesn't fade but he lifts his chin too, rejecting the embarrassment. His eyes flick over to Chris, up and down, curious, awake.

Victor feels it too, an echo or a memory, the sharp-eyed hunger for every beautiful man that made every day a torture and delight. And Chris, lounging, robe falling open over his chest, half a smile on his face, is very beautiful.

"We were." Chris slides his arm across the couch, behind Vitya, to dip one fingertip under the fold of Victor's robe. "We are."

Victor catches his breath. Just that small touch is rousing him now, even more than kissing on the couch after six weeks apart. He meets Chris's eyes behind Vitya's head, then brushes his lips over the back of Chris's hand.

At the same moment, Vitya leans back into Chris's arm.

They all three go still. Victor doesn't even breathe, but the air around them is charged with tension, that invisible cord looping around them all. He looks at Vitya's lovely profile, the need that's outlined in the twist of his mouth and the flare of his nostrils, and he can feel the same expression on his own face.

Then Chris shifts, enough to start time again, and they both look over at him. He looks at Vitya with a smile but when he turns his eyes to Victor, his face is serious. He raises his eyebrows. "Well?"

"Are you asking my opinion or my permission?" Victor says. Vitya is turning to Chris, leaning for him like a plant leans for the sun. But Victor puts two fingers under his chin and turns his head. "Vitya."

Vitya's face gleams like moonlight in the dim room. "Please," he says.

Victor kisses him.

At first it's just a warm press against that sweet mouth. Victor pulls back, just a fraction, to give Vitya time to react and to let his own singing nerves calm.

But Vitya fists the lapel of Victor's robe and bangs into him, mouth wide and thigh pressing close. A sigh of breath into Victor's mouth, then he's kissing Victor, messy, scrambling.

Victor cups the back of Vitya's head and opens for him. It's bad, too wet, too open. By sixteen he should be better at this. But Vitya's hands catching at him, tongue driving into him, this desperation Victor can remember from so many nights. He's flaring with it too and he can't decide if he should calm the boy or press him down onto the couch and roll on top.

He pulls back to breathe. He strokes Vitya's face, the faint brush of stubble along his jawline, not enough yet to shave every day. "I'm glad you're here," Victor says and Vitya's eyes go hot and needy.

Then Chris leans in, one hand squeezing Victor's shoulder, the other circling Vitya's wrist. "Will you let me?" he says.

"Selfish," Victor says but Vitya is already turning to Chris. "Be good."

"You know how good I am," Chris says.

Victor laughs. "I know how cliché you are." He keeps his hand on Vitya's back, just a light touch. Don't lose the connection, stay in the circuit.

"What do you want?" Chris says to Vitya. "You can have anything you want."

Vitya's face is still flushed but his eyes look straight into Chris's. "I want you to kiss me."

"Then I will." Chris smiles, that lazy grin that nearly topples over from charming to infuriating. He leans in, slowly, slowly, and Victor can see Vitya nearly trembling as he tries to wait for it.

Chris's lips come down on Vitya's face, just brushing the corner of his mouth, then moving along his jaw. Vitya's mouth is open, waiting for Chris's mouth. He has too much dignity to crane like a baby bird but he wants to, Victor can feel the effort that it costs him.

"Slow and soft," Chris says and kisses Vitya just like that, his mouth lingering. "Don't open too wide ... just like that." He's teaching Vitya how to kiss, caressing him with his lips and voice and hands.

Victor wants to press himself into the middle of it but he holds himself back, not because of dignity, but because he wants to see.

See Vitya slow himself down and match Chris's pace. See Chris wind his fingers in Vitya's hair. Listen to Chris murmuring to Vitya to give him his tongue and watch Vitya do everything Chris tells him.

"You're so good," Chris says. He glances over at Victor. "I thought you'd learn fast."

Vitya glows with it, shoulders rising with pride, and Victor glows too, like he's the one being praised.

"I want to touch you." Chris puts one hand on Vitya's neck and Victor can feel Chris's palm against his own skin. "Can I touch you?"

Vitya nods, eyes closing, fingers tightening around Chris's arm.

"Tell me," Chris says. He brushes his lips across Vitya's temple. "Look at me and tell me what to do."

Victor feels the shiver go through Vitya and it goes through him too, a thrill rippling between them. "Go on, Vitya," he says and rubs Vitya's back, a slow circle. "I'm right here."

Vitya opens his eyes and gives Victor one shining glance before he looks at Chris, almost defiant, and says, "Touch me."

Chris's smile is like sunrise and a tiny pang stabs Victor, a needle sliding into his heart. He can't tell if it's happiness or jealousy.

"Turn over," Chris says and pulls Vitya up onto him, Vitya's back against Chris's chest. Chris settles them both, smoothing Vitya's hair and pausing with one hand light on Vitya's hip. Then he reaches out his hand to Victor.

Instead of taking it, Victor leans in for Chris to touch his cheek. Chris's fingers are warm, nearly hot, and they slide up into Victor's hair, tugging him closer. Victor moves to fill Vitya's space on the couch.

"We'll take care of you," Chris says to Vitya but his eyes are still on Victor, his fingers are still on Victor's face. Victor moves and kisses him, his chin grazing Vitya's hair.

Chris is hardly moving except for his tongue against Victor's but Victor can feel the coiled energy in him, the desire that's already burning Victor whenever Chris touches him.

Vitya shifts and Victor reaches down for him, links their hands together like lovers in the park. Vitya clutches tight and Victor clutches back, I've got you, we've got you.

"Chris." Victor pulls back, one last flick of Chris's tongue catching the corner of his mouth. "Vitya's waiting for you."

"Dommage," Chris murmurs. He turns Vitya's head and Vitya leans in for his kiss, pushing up for more when Chris moves back. "No," Chris says. "I want to watch your face."

Vitya flushes and his fingers squeeze. He closes his eyes and leans back against Chris's shoulder.

And Chris begins to touch him. First a finger just inside the collar of Vitya's t-shirt, drawing an arc on his skin. Vitya shivers and presses back against him.

Chris must be so ready right now, Victor wishes he could see. He tries to pull the feel of it from Vitya, Chris's long body beneath him, Chris's cock hard against the cleft of his buttocks, saying the things Chris always says, with his body, his face, his voice: I want you, you're beautiful, I want you.

Victor stretches out his leg and puts his foot against Chris's ankle, just to be there too, and Chris gives him some pressure, welcomes him.

Chris puts both hands on Vitya's hips and slides them over Vitya's belly, his chest, dragging up his shirt so it's crumpled under his arms. Chris strokes his hands up and down Vitya's skin, slow, soft, like he's soothing Vitya instead of winding him up.

But Vitya is anything but soothed. He's squirming, pressing back, arching up, eyes screwed closed, mouth half open. Hard and stretching out his thin pants.

Victor catches his own breath and strokes Vitya's hand with his thumb. He's hard too, ready for someone's hand or mouth or thigh, but he doesn't touch himself. He just watches.

Chris's thumb catches Vitya's nipple and Vitya gasps. "You like that," Chris says but he's looking at Victor now. Because, yes, he knows what Victor likes. "You should see your face, you should see how much you like it."

And it's not the same as having Chris's hands on him but Victor can feel more than just a memory, each brush of Chris's fingers, each shiver of Vitya's skin. And the look in Chris's eyes as he touches Vitya. Maybe no one will even need to touch Victor for this to happen, just his hand in Vitya's hand, his foot on Chris's foot.

"I like it," Vitya breathes, in Russian, but there's no need to translate for Chris.

"I'm going to undress you," Chris says. He moves his hands to Vitya's hips, thumbs at the waistband. "If you tell me to."

Vitya swallows and the words tumble out: "Take them off."

"Use my name." Chris kisses Vitya's temple. "Tell me what to do."

"Chris, please," Vitya says. He turns his head, his mouth, his tongue searching for Chris's but Chris won't give it to him.

"Don't ask me," Chris says. "Tell me."

The words are in Victor's mouth and he almost says them for Vitya, he so badly wants this to happen. Instead, he squeezes Vitya's hand, strokes Chris's calf.

"Chris." The flush on Vitya's cheeks is brilliant now, hectic, like he's feverish. "Undress me."

"Yes," Chris says. "I will." And he takes one end of the drawstring and pulls the knot free.

Vitya raises his hips eagerly and Chris slides the thin pants down around his knees.

And Victor looks. In the warm light, Vitya's skin is soft and glowing over the outline of his ribs, the muscle that rises and falls with his abdomen as he breathes. The sprawl of his bare thighs. And his cock hard and leaking against his belly, so ready Victor's finger could probably bring him off.

"You're beautiful," Victor says.

"Narcissist." Chris grins. "But you're right." He speaks against Vitya's temple. "You're so beautiful, thank you for letting me look at you." He rests his hands on Vitya's thighs. "What do you want me to do now?"

Vitya trembles, opens his mouth, doesn't speak. Can't speak, but he clutches Victor's hand.

Victor can't stand it, he turns Vitya's head and kisses him again, presses into Vitya with his tongue, like he can give him the words he needs to say. He pulls back and whispers, "Just say it." He strokes Vitya's cheek. "It's only Chris."

"Thank you so much, Victor," Chris says.

Vitya's throat works as he swallows. He pulls in air. "Chris," he says and there's a note of command in his voice. "Touch my cock."

"It's definitely you," Chris says. He brings one hand up slowly, fingertips trailing over Vitya's thigh and hip. Then he presses his palm down over Vitya's cock.

Vitya's hips rise and his cock jerks. Victor's too, he can feel that heavy heat of Chris's hand, even though it's not touching him.

"Wait if you can," Chris says. He's not moving his hand, not even curling his fingers. "It's okay if you can't but try not to come right away." With his other hand, he gently cups Vitya's balls, teases at the tuft of hair.

"I can wait," Vitya says. His body tenses, his toes point. He's working hard already.