“Malcolm, everything’s under control. Can you just calm down?” It’s a bald face lie if you’ve ever told one. No, nothing was really under control. And really, despite the murderous glint in Brahms’ eyes, you were far more concerned about Malcolm bolting out the door and calling the police. And it’s one bitch of a task.
Brahms possessively grabs at your trousers, the only thing you still have on really, with a body laying at your feet. Neck bent at an unnatural angle, and skin rapidly paling.
Malcolm, who is only in a t-shirt and hastily pulled back up pants, pulls at his hair, pacing in the game room, where only an hour earlier, and entire story was playing out. It’s crazy how rapidly things could play out.
Malcolm had come over to deliver the groceries, as is usual, and Brahms had been acting like a right brat, you invited him to stay later for some drinks - maybe even stay the night if he’s had too much too drink.
As much as you love Brahms, he’s incredibly possessive and could stand for some competition, and Malcolm is probably the last person he’d try to kill, other than you. No Malcolm means no food. If he wants you, he’s going to have to try more than demanding your attention.
And try he has. He tries and makes sweets that end up tasting horrible, but are endearing nevertheless. Sometimes he’ll come to you with a bouquet of wild flowers he found in the forest, and honestly him leaving the house of his own volition is far greater of a present than the flowers. Or he’ll make collages from magazines and books and various sketches and leaf presses that are honestly breathtaking.
Brahms will try and be more considerate of your feels, and when he would normally lash out at you, he’ll restrain himself and bite his tongue instead.
But the night before Brahms was an absolute terror. Clinging to you all day, tugging you around to wherever he wants you, arguing with you against every turn, and throwing a tantrum when you told him no good night kiss since he was a bad boy today. A tantrum which included blindly throwing a lamp at the wall, realizing how terrified you were, and promptly feeling you up and trying for sex when he realized his mistake.
It seems like most of your punishments as of late have had some sort of sexual edge to them. But nothing other than threatening to leave him works, and you weren’t about to constantly lord that over him.
The immediate solution was to bring Malcolm over, and have a nice snog with him on the couch right where Brahms would have a nice view of everything from one of his hidey holes. While you were planning for Malcolm to fuck you, he flipped the tables by pulling you on top of him and looking at you with eyes that undeniably said I want you.
So you worked down him, worshiping his body, rucking up his shirt to kiss every inch of skin and got rid of his trousers, and had only just pulled down his pants and swallowed him when there was a knocking at the front door. Odd, considering how late it was and how secluded the house is. But in a stupidly giddy rush, you jump up to get it, since teasing Malcolm didn’t run risk of him having a fit.
Not a minute later, you walk back into the game room, a burly man wrapping his arm around your neck, and a gun pressed to the small of your back. He tells Malcolm, who’s scrambling to pull his pants up, to go get all of the valuables in the house, or else you are getting shot.
Malcolm freezes, and that’s when Brahms starts up, rattling the walls and making the house groan in a way you’ve never been able to figure out how he did. It catches the would be robber off guard enough to rush out of the wall and tackle him to the floor, snapping his neck before he can aim and fire off the gun.
Once everything has calmed down, Brahms’ anger is pointed at Malcolm, having found nowhere to melt away. “He’s mine,” he hisses, jerking you away from Malcolm, who looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.
“Are you bloody… What the hell?!”
And that leaves you where you are now, just barely restraining Brahms, and Malcolm about to dart from the house.
“Malcolm, this is Brahms. The real Brahms, who never died, and has been living in the walls the entire time,” you tell him, as if you were explaining why the sky is blue. “We’re… involved, and he’s rather protective of me.”
“Involved?” he lets out, exasperated. “You a-and Brahms? Then why? Why me? Christ you’re dating a murderer…” He stops tugging on his hair and cards his fingers through it instead.
“Because Brahms is a brat,” you stare at him pointedly. “And I’m not exclusively his.”
“No you’re mine,” he pulls you closer against his chest. “He’s not allowed to be with you because I’m the only one allowed to love him.”
Malcolm takes a good, long look at the two of you, silent for a few moments. His lips move as if he’s about to say something, but he stops, trying to form the perfect sentence. All five stages of grief cross his face in the minute he tries to recollect himself. He finally resolves himself and wipes his hands down his face. “Why not both of us?”
“Because I own him,” Brahms seethes.
“No Brahms, why don’t you have both of us?”
And it’s that which really gives Brahms a pause. He lets go of you, and tilts his head to the side as he walks up to Malcolm. Part of you wants to jump and stop him, but another makes you stand still. Brahms raises a hand, letting his finger tips run along Malcolm’s cheek. “Why?”
Malcolm stands there, only slightly flinching away from Brahms’ touch. “Because, well, he likes both of us, and don’t you want him to be happy? Look at him, he’s steadfast enough to stand there unshaken after you just killed someone, he’d never leave you. So make him, give him everything he wants. A-and you’re obviously devoted, and passionate, and… Well I’ll be frank, you’re bloody hot.”
Brahms is thrown for a loop again, frozen in place as he searches Malcolm’s eyes for something. “You think- you think I’m attractive?” Of course that’s what draws Brahms attention.
“Well yeah, you’re tall, got some nice muscles, and all that body hair…” Malcolm whistles, miming over Brahms chest. “If you were down for us to tag team you, I definitely wouldn’t say no.”
The recovery and adaptability of Malcolm is truly a thing you can marvel at. Alongside his ass. What was that old saying about bravery and stupidity? At least it’s better than Malcolm running off, so you take it with grace.
You come up from behind Brahms, stepping over the corpse on your way. You wrap your arms around his middle sliding your hands just barely into waistband. You struggle to rest your head on his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “How about it Brahmsy? I know how much you like beind stuffed with my cock, and that you can never get enough of it. I can see you when you try fingering yourself at night. You’ll never feel as full is both Malcolm and I were inside you, at the same time.”
You can hear how fast Brahms is breathing under his mask, and you bet his face is beet red. Your wandering hands don’t help much with that either. He says something, first so quiet you can hardly hear him, and when asked to repeat, he raises his voice. “Yes please.”
As you find you, Brahms does not like Malcolm preparing him, so instead Malcolm busies himself sucking you off while you stretch and prepare and increasingly frenzied Brahms with what is probably half a bottle of lube. You tuck your thumb into your hand, managing your entire hand inside of him. When Brahms looks down, eyes wide, he jerks his hip as if he were about to cum. But he clenches his eyes shut and shudders, holding everything back.
Another adventure for another day, you say to yourself.
Brahms is so strung out that he’s extremely malleable, and allows you to position him wherever you want. He clings to your shoulder as you and Malcolm line up your position, both sitting up and facing each other and pressed together so your cocks were right next to each to each other.
Malcolm does the honor of using the other half of the bottle of lube to slick up both of your cocks with one of his nicely sized hands. His cock is only slightly longer than yours, but not much thicker.
Brahms, as impatient as he does, doesn’t wait for you to say anything before sinking down on your cock, whining and shoving his masked face into your neck. He rides it for a few thrusts before Malcolm is nudging at his entrance. Brahms wasn’t exactly tight, but you’re not entirely sure how well this is going to go.
The entire process of getting Malcolm shoved in next to you, Brahms shakes and sweats profusely, digging his nails into your shoulders. He tries to keep himself quiet, likely biting on his bottom lip, but he lets out soft moans and hushed “ah!”’s. They way he wiggles his hips while Malcolm pushes inside, whether it’s to get comfortable or for more friction you don’t know, really tests your self control.
Once Malcolm gets inside, and fully pushes himself all the way inside so Brahms is seated on both of your cocks, he lets out a loud, long wail.
Neither of you want to move, relishing in how tight of a fit it is. You can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel for Brahms. “You’re such a good boy Brahmsy,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re taking both of us so well. Do you like how you’re so full of the both of us?”
Brahms can’t really say anything, but he nods.
You pry Brahms off of yourself and push him so he’s reclining against Malcolm’s chest, who takes him with open arms. Really it’s only so you can get a better view of Brahms writhing when you start pumping in and out. And a show you do get from him.
When Malcolm jumps in and slowly starts figuring out out a pace between the two of you. In and out. Malcolm presses his lips to Brahms’ shoulder, muffling his own noises. Brahms’ back archs, as he’s really unable to do anything against the tide of pleasure. He starts twitching you run your hands along his chest and tweak his nipples, pinching them harshly, then ducking down to lathe them with your tongue.
Your own orgasm catches you off guard. As Brahms got more and more wound up, and Malcolm further got lost in the sensation of Brahms, it seemingly came out of nowhere. You hunched over and let out a sharp gasp, spilling your seed deep inside Brahms. The feeling of Malcolm still thrusting is too much, so you slip out, fight of the haze of drowsiness, and focus entirely on Brahms.
You kneel between Brahms’ and Malcolm’s legs, and slip a few fingers in beside Malcolm fucking into the mess of lube and cum inside of Brahms, spilling it down onto the bedspread (which Brahms will, of course, clean).
“Please,” Brahms gasps breathlessly, head thrown back and leaning on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Please, please let me cum, I’ve been a good boy, I have,” he begs.
“Shhh, you have been very good for me and Malcolm. Such a good boy. Just be a good boy a little while longer, until Malcolm cums.
Brahms sucks in a shuddering breath, as if he were trying to resolve himself, but luckily for him, Malcolm didn’t take to long to cum, and Christ does Malcolm make the sweetest moan you’ve ever heard. He floods inside Brahms, his seed mixing with yours. It doesn’t quite make Brahms finish, but you can he’s close, so you drop down and take Brahms into your mouth without any mercy until his back bows and he’s sobbing and Malcolm, who looks like he’s about to drop off any second kisses his neck and plays with his nipples.
Brahms fully slumps back against Malcolm, who goes him and falls back against the bed. His dick slips from Brahms, and despite Brahms shuddering at all of the cum rushing out, Malcolm settles in spooning Brahms quite contently.
As you’ve had to learn countless times with Brahms, right now isn’t the time for a deep clean, but rather a cursory one with wet wipes, and you crawl in bedside Brahms, carefully removing his mask. He makes a noise a protest, but that’s quickly smothered with a kiss. "Give Malcolm a goodnight kiss Brahmsy,” you murmur, tangling your legs together, and wrapping your arms around him, just bellow Malcolm’s.
Brahms looks like he’s about to snark something in return, but he huffs instead when you raise an eyebrow. He leans his head over his shoulder, so an already half-asleep Malcolm press a deep, sensual kiss to Brahms’ lips that under any other circumstance would get you riled up.
Oh yes, this could work. This could work very well.