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“I’m worth way more than 17 maravedís ,” Miguel complained, as Tulio and Chel welcomed their newly acquired horse-thief-turned-indentured-servant into their new home in Barcelona and back into their arms.

“Inflation,” Tulio explained, grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him, and even though Miguel’s mouth tasted horrible and his neck felt thinner than it should be, Tulio felt himself relaxing for the first time in a month.

Miguel pulled back with a soft grunt. “Wait, wouldn’t that mean I should be worth—”

Then it was Chel’s turn to kiss him, and he forgot all about how much they had paid for him.

“Alright, come on, you two,” Tulio said, when it went on a little too long. “Let me get these handcuffs off you, hold still…”

This all started because it turned out that a good way to get passage back to Spain from the New World was to be arrested.

Miguel and Tulio were good at cons, even long cons, but adding Chel’s focus into the mix proved to be a dangerous combination. They stopped haring off on the first wild scheme that sounded fun (Miguel) and stopped being paralyzed with planning anxiety (Tulio) with her as a member of their trio, and things, as a whole, went a lot smoother.

Tulio and Miguel’s relationship also improved with the addition of Chel. They stopped competing for women (virtually their only source of real strife) when Chel made it clear that she cared for both of them and wanted to sleep with both of them, and anyways didn’t want to damage what they already had.

They protested that it wasn’t like that, of course, but the jig was up, then, and the longest con they ever played—on themselves—had been blown wide open by the next morning, when they awakened well after noon in a naked, sticky, and thoroughly-fucked pile.

“See?” Chel said. “Just one of you couldn’t keep up with me.”

(Especially when they had seemed rather more interested in each other, which she didn’t want to comment on after their first time.)

“We’re going to have to find something else to fight over,” Miguel said, pulling Chel onto his lap and kissing her neck.

“Like maybe who’s the better lover,” Tulio suggested, kissing his way up the inside of her arm.

Something to fight over had presented itself, of course, when Chel suggested her plan to get them back to Spain. Who would, in disguise as one of his men, ingratiate himself to Cortes (who didn’t really know all his men by name and face, hand-picked like the disciples of Christ, indeed!) by catching a horse thief and known stowaway in time to ship him back to Spain (along with his new Native wife, of course, whose Spanish gown hid enough El Dorado gold for a modest living if they never worked another day in their lives), and who would be carted back to Spain as a prisoner, kept in a cramped cell in isolation and given nothing but water and moldy bread and whatever the other two could sneak to him (rather like the trip to the New World), was a source of much contention.

In the end, after Tulio drew the short straw (twice) and psyched himself up for the role while describing in detail how horrible it was going to be, Miguel apparently decided he couldn’t stomach the thought of all that happening to his partner and had just disappeared.

They found him trying to steal the horses.

“Man, they really welded these on here,” Tulio grumbled, wrestling with the rusty manacles.

“You know, I do so much for this family—” Miguel sighed dreamily, while Chel bathed him with a towel and a bowl of warm, rose-scented water, “and you can’t even manage to pick a pair of handcuffs!”

“They look rusted shut,” Chel commented, and examined his wrists, getting in Tulio’s way to wash his hands. There were angry red welts on his wrists that look calloused over from constant rubbing, and she took his hands to kiss them. “You poor dear. Want another date?”

She didn’t wait for a reply before pushing the fruit past his lips. Fed and watered, naked except for the handcuffs, Miguel already felt better, relaxing on the largest bed he had ever seen while Chel bathed him and Tulio worked at the stubborn lock. He decided if the house they took the liberty of picking out without him went no further than this palatial bedroom, Miguel would be happy here for the rest of his life. He could almost give up conning. Almost.

Tulio gave a frustrated grunt, making Miguel snap his eyes open. “I’m going to have to cut them. Come on, I think we have a saw in the barn.”

“We have a barn?” Miguel laughed. “Tulio, you’re an embarrassment. Come here and kiss me a bit before you cut my arm off?”

“I’m not gonna cut—you—Mig— would you just—” Tulio protested, and stammered a few attempts at speech, severely stressed and wondering why Chel and Miguel weren’t.

Maybe, he thought, Miguel was still dehydrated, and didn’t realize he was in pain. Maybe he couldn’t feel his hands anymore. He’d worn the same manacles for a month, after all! If Miguel lost his hands, or died because of this, Tulio would never forgive himself!

“Relax, Tulio,” Chel told him, running her fingers through Miguel’s hair while Miguel preened like a spoiled cat. “Why not have a little fun with our ‘wicked servant’ before we free him, hm?”

“Oh-ho!” Miguel laughed, a little nervous tendril of excitement curling in his belly.

“Chel, that’s not funny—” Tulio protested, but his heart thumped straight down to his cock as Chel pushed Miguel’s hands over his head, looping the chains around one of the decorative bars of their lavish headboard. “Uh.”

“Right, not funny at all,” Miguel grunted, arching up into Chel’s hand as she gripped his cock. “Very serious. Deadly. You know, a man who’s been starved and beaten and locked up for weeks doesn’t have many opportunities to ejaculate, so—”

“Miguel, you’re always quick,” Chel laughed, “which is probably good, if you want to enjoy yourself before you fall asleep on us.”

“I’m not—at all—tired,” Miguel said in between kisses. “And I take offense—at—”

“Miguel. Shut up,” Tulio said, and kissed him hard enough to make him.

They stopped talking after that, Chel and Tulio communicating without words, easing Miguel onto his side. They cleaned and tended and kissed him all over, gentle but insistent, telling him in their touches and sighs that he was more precious to them than all the gold they smuggled across the ocean (or most of it, anyway). Miguel was appreciative, yielding, relishing in the touches that were kind and loving after so long with only rough hands and beatings.

“Ah,” Miguel said, as Tulio slid slicked fingers into him, and Chel was swallowing his cock. “Oh-oh, God—”

But Chel actually tightened a hand around his balls at that, and tugged them down, cutting off his orgasm. “ Not yet .”

“FUCK!” Miguel shouted, his whole body jerking in protest, but Tulio and Chel only drew closer to him, holding him down and pinning him in between them, and Miguel thought this was a prison he could learn to love. “Ah, God. God. You hate me. Am I still in Hell?”

“Purgatory,” Tulio whispered, kissing his ear, and then nipping it gently. “You have to be good to get all the way to Heaven.”

Chel only rolled her eyes, but she had to admit their strange religion had some kinky ideas she liked. “Hold still,” she said, and guided Miguel’s cock into her, rubbing her clit to get herself closer. “Alright, Tulio, now.”

“Now? I don’t want to hurt him,” Tulio said, sounding aghast but winking at Chel over Miguel’s shoulder.

Miguel nearly sat up in alarm, arms wrenching him back: “I can take it!”

“I know you can,” Tulio chuckled, and Miguel knew he was being teased as Tulio gentled him so he could slide into his unresisting body. “Fuck, Miguel. It’s good to—I-I’m glad you’re—”

Miguel was sweating, clenching his fists as he got used to the stretch, and was close to being fucked into a stupor, but he turned enough to kiss Tulio into silence. “I’m glad we’re here, too, Tulio.”

They gasped and grunted and writhed, and Miguel’s fingers began to twitch with the desire to get his hands on them, and almost before he knew he was close he was seeing white with the force of his orgasm. Chel and Tulio continued fucking him, Chel coming with her fingers circling her clit and Tulio holding Miguel so tight he could barely breathe, both of them competing for who could hit the highest note as they screamed. They came down slower, panting, sharing open-mouthed kisses and several more dates and some watered-down wine until Miguel had melted into liquid between them. Chel finished cleaning them and set the basin aside so she could relax in the post-coital glow.

Tulio refused to release Miguel, now he had him, and kissed his neck and shoulder as he unlooped his wrists from the headboard. “I’ll get these off you…when I can stand again.”

“Oh, those?” Miguel said, and fiddled with a secret catch.

The handcuffs dropped free of his wrists and slid down behind the bed with a heavy clank.

Tulio gaped, at once angry and relieved. “H-how long have you—? You were never—! Miguel!”

Miguel appeared only smug. “A con artist never reveals his secrets.”  

Chel just laughed. “Oh, you’re a naughty boy!”

“I am,” Miguel gushed, and stretched his arms out, pulling each of them close to him, one on either side. “You should definitely put them back on me.”