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Throwing Sparks

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It always starts like this, with her between the two of them. Even — especially — after long days like this one, with the morning full of political engagements and the afternoon spent shut away in their labs. Now, though, the castle is dark and quiet, and Agatha is quite content to have two pairs of eyes fixed on her.

She presses a hand to each of their chests, and she can feel them watching her. To have them both in her power like this, waiting on her to move, is enough to make her knees go weak, and when she makes it, the decision itself is just as intoxicating as it always is. She closes her hands in their shirts and trails a kiss from one mouth to the other, letting Tarvek’s lip slip from between hers to open her mouth to Gil’s.

“Come on,” she murmurs against his mouth before turning to look at Tarvek, at the way he’s lifting a hand to his lip and watching her with wide, transfixed eyes. And she touches him, trails a hand up from his chest to his neck to his jaw, covers his hand with her own. Behind her Gil gives a low, pleased chuckle and slips his arms around her, one over her shoulders and the other crossing her waist. When she tips her head back to look at him, he grins down at her before leaning in to nuzzle at her cheek.

Tarvek hasn’t moved. She brings him toward them then, sliding her hand into his hair and gently pushing him forward until he collides with her and she can push herself up to brush her lips over the corner of his mouth.

He makes a small sound of surprise, and she gives his hair a teasing tug. “What,” she asks, “did you think we were going to start without you?”

He mutters something indistinct and his ears go pink, and then she pulls him down to kiss him soundly. It takes care of his hesitation quickly enough, and he returns the kiss, following her lead. The careful softness that she knows so well is still there, but so is the fire she loves to bring out in him, too. She nibbles on his lower lip before he pulls away from her mouth, just far enough away to meet her eyes and bring a hand up to briefly cup her chin.

“May I—” he starts, his hands dropping to hover over her waist and her hips before his fingertips come to rest on the clasps of her bodice. She nods and moves a little so she can relax into Gil’s shoulder as his arms come up around her chest, and she watches Tarvek as he unclasps the bodice and sets to work on the buttons of her blouse, his fingers skimming over her stomach. He does it slowly and carefully, his eyes darting from her torso to her face every few buttons, and she shivers as his hands trail up over her corset, between her breasts. But he jumps and fumbles as Gil leans in to mouth at his neck, and Agatha can’t help but giggle as Tarvek tries and fails to glare. She shifts her head to the side, and Gil leans forward to plant a hard, sudden kiss on Tarvek, who pauses for a moment and looks between the two of them. 

Then he raises an eyebrow at them, a half-smile tugging at his face, and he leans forward to wrap his arms around them both and bury his face in the crook of Agatha’s shoulder. He tilts his head to kiss her neck, the light brush of his mouth sending a shiver down her spine, and then he falls still, holding both of them. Gil’s arms slip from Agatha’s shoulders to pull Tarvek closer, and they stand for a moment, tangled up and pressed against each other.

Gil is the first to move, slipping away from the others and taking their hands to pull them gently toward the bed, and they tumble down in a pile of limbs. Agatha proves victorious, and as she swings herself up to sit nonchalantly atop Gil, Tarvek muffles a laugh. 

“Hey!” Gil says, pushing at Tarvek in mock indignation. Agatha takes his momentary distraction from her as an opportunity to bend down and press her mouth against the triangle of skin bared by the collar of his shirt. “Ah—Agatha!”

She laughs against his skin and moves up along his neck as her hands move down along the buttons. She loves this, loves him half-clothed beneath her and the breathless sounds he makes when she runs her hands down his chest, and when she pulls away, the way he looks back at her, too.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes. She bends down again to trace his lips with her tongue, and he returns the kiss in equal force. It's fierce and hungry and overwhelming, and she lets herself sink down into it, tangling a hand into his messy hair as her knees slide out and back along his sides. Gil’s hands find her hips, and then the fastenings of her skirt, and she rocks forward against him, pulling away from his mouth as he slides his hands down the outside of her thighs, moving back against her and kissing down her neck.

And then there’s a hand on her waist and Tarvek’s lips moving up along her shoulder. “May I?” he asks against her skin, and a shiver runs down her back as she sits up to move back against him, still atop Gil, down to her corset and stockings and drawers. Tarvek’s coat and vest and shirt are gone, too, and when he leans in she puts a hand to his bare chest. 

He kisses her slow and sweet and long, with one hand resting on the small of her back, cradling her close. “You’re alright?” he asks softly, pushing a loose lock of hair away to kiss the top of her ear. 

It takes her a moment to find her voice, and she nods and nestles against him. “Of course I am.”

He smiles a little and shifts, looking down, and the smile turns into a smirk. Agatha pulls back and follows his gaze down to Gil, who raises an eyebrow as Tarvek’s hand settles on his stomach.

“And you?” he asks, sounding almost predatory as he leans closer. His hand slips lower,  skimming over the top of his trousers. Gil's eyes widen. Tarvek chuckles.

“Ngh,” manages Gil through gritted teeth.

"What's that? You'll have to say it again, I'm afraid," Tarvek says. He's hardly finished his sentence when Gil reaches up and yanks him down by his hair, knocking his glasses askew and dragging him in until they collide. Tarvek’s hands move up, and he pins Gil’s shoulders to the bed and bears down on him as they kiss.

The kiss intensifies, and Gil moans into it, his hips rolling up. Agatha gasps and presses back down, watching as the two of them surge against each other with a fierceness that takes her breath away. There’s a strangled sound from Tarvek as Gil’s hands find his rear and another as he squeezes. Gil breaks away to groan properly and Tarvek moves back, his hair falling around his face. Agatha’s mouth goes dry as she watches them watching each other, both flushed and breathing hard and staring, and then Gil pushes himself up and reaches for her, resting one hand along the curve of her waist while he finds Tarvek’s arm with the other. “This is... really great. You’re both. Really great.”

She laughs, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder and looking over at Tarvek, who is trying to hide his smile and failing miserably. “You’re really great, too,” she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek and trying not to laugh even more at the startled look he gives her.

“Exceptional, even,” says Tarvek conversationally, pushing his hair out of his face. 

Gil looks sheepish. “You really are, though,” he says, his face going even redder, and he moves upward to bring her closer until they’re pressed chest to chest and he can lean a little forward and bury his face in her hair. She relaxes into his touch, letting him take more of her weight as she rests her chin on his shoulder. The bed shifts as Tarvek comes up behind them, wrapping his arms around them both and pressing in close,his lips brushing over her neck before he falls still and, for a long moment, they don’t move. 

She can feel both of them breathing and each tiny movement that they make, and there’s something safe and soft and wonderful about being between them like this, something that feels like it’s lifting her heart right out of her chest and filling her with a breathless bubbly warmth that she never wants to lose. She loves them, loves this, loves the heat of them around her and the way that everything has slowed and shrunk down to just the three of them, just now. There are hands moving slowly down her sides, toying with the ties of her corset, and she drops her own hands down to tug at the waistband of the trousers she really wishes Gil weren’t wearing.

She nudges his chin forward and kisses up his jawline as she undoes the fastenings and works them as far down over his hips as she can without moving away from either of them. Tarvek gives an appreciative murmur and Gil a strangled squeak — both noises that shoot right down her spine to settle low and hot inside her — as she brushes her hand over the bulge in his drawers. His breath catches and he stares at her, his eyes wide and full of a desperate, mesmerizing need, and she is powerful and breathless and every inch of her is burning. There is Madness crackling at the edges of her brain as she presses her hand downward to draw a helpless moan from him.

“Is that it now?” Tarvek says from somewhere over her shoulder. His voice, low and husky and on the edge of Mad, makes her shiver, and then his touch does too, as he gently tilts her back and sets to work on the clasps of her corset. She manages to tear her eyes away from Gil’s face to watch Tarvek’s fingers work at the fastenings until the garment slips away and he leans into her again. His hands brush over her breasts as he wraps his arms around her again, bending his head to kiss across her shoulders and down along her back.

The sudden rush of skin on skin is electrifying, and she stifles a moan of her own when Gil presses back up to her front, his mouth on hers in a fevered kiss. His hands slide over her shoulders and down her sides, and then they move off her entirely, and behind her Tarvek makes a muffled, slightly indignant sound against her back before giving Gil a push and shifting away from her.

“Do it properly,” he says. There’s a rustle of fabric and a moment of fumbling, and Agatha breaks away from Gil’s mouth to turn her head and look at him as he sends his trousers flying gracelessly across the room. He looks at her — looks at them both, since Gil is watching him, too — with his eyes dark and his lips swollen and his hair spilling out of his ponytail, and when he puts a hand to her chin and tilts her head toward him, her breath catches in her throat. “Blue fire,” he murmurs, and then his hand falls away and slips back to tangle fiercely in Gil’s hair.

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Tarvek drops down and finds a spot on Gil’s neck that makes him squirm and sucks, jerking Gil’s head back even more to get a better angle. He moans, and Tarvek takes that as an opportunity to bite down on his flesh and pull more noises from his mouth. Agatha watches with heat coiling like a spring inside her, chewing her lip as they move against each other until at last Tarvek lets him go, the pink beginnings of what will be a bruise already showing on Gil’s neck. 

As Tarvek pulls back to regard him smugly, Gil rubs at the spot. The grin on his face is half-dazed and half-dangerous, and Agatha finds herself trying very hard to resist the urge to tackle him to the bed and make him moan and babble and kiss her with boundless, endless desperation, to do what she knows she can do to him. She reaches out to touch him, sliding her hands from his shoulders to his chest and spreading her fingers to sweep them down the solidness of him, to feel the lines beneath his skin. 

She looks over his shoulder at Tarvek, who shrugs and settles back, and she kisses Gil in a quick-burning heat, moving from his mouth to his jaw to his neck and back, her hands wandering up and down his back before sliding between them to unbutton his drawers and push them to his knees, letting him move until he can shed them and she can press herself up against him entirely, relishing in the heat of his skin against hers and his hands as they trace back up her back and all too briefly cup her breasts and move upward to frame her face as he kisses her again, deep and hard and searching.

He breaks away and moves down, peppering kisses over her neck, her collarbone, across the top of her chest. When he moves his hands downward to stroke his thumbs over the soft plane of her stomach he looks up at her questioningly. She nods. Settling his face into the crook of her neck, he fumbles with the ties of her drawers and pushes them down. In a moment she’s divested of knickers and stockings alike and back up against him, needing him, needing to touch him as much as she needs to breathe. He seems to feel the same way, because his hands are all over her, and his mouth too. He’s slipping lower, still kissing everywhere he can reach, and somewhere dimly in the back of her mind she wishes he’d move back up so she can stay, pressed against him, until she’d sated some deep demanding need—but then he dips lower and his mouth skims one of her nipples, and she gasps and bucks and any thoughts she might have had dissolve into a hazy fog of Gil’s mouth and his hands and his body all over her, and she lets herself lean back against the pillows. She wants more, wants him, wants everything, now. 

A strained, atonal hum escapes her mouth; Tarvek sits up, and Gil lifts his face away from the kisses he’s sprinkling downward. “Don’t stop,” she somehow manages, her voice electric with the Spark, and he doesn’t, nuzzling his face against her stomach. His hands slide under her thighs to nudge them gently apart, and he looks up at her again. His eyes are full of desperation — desperate desire, desperate need, desperate love —and her world ignites.

She is full of heat, a shifting pulsing burning thing radiating through her whole body, and it all explodes behind her eyes at once as Gil drops down to press his mouth against her. The music in her head swells to a crescendo and she grabs at his hair, unable to hold back another choked noise as he sets his mouth and tongue to work with a feverish intensity, coaxing more and more tiny gasps and sounds from her as the heat and need inside her builds and builds and she tightens her hand even more in his hair, pulling hard. He’s doing things to her with his tongue that she hadn’t known were possible, and even that thought fizzles into nothing in her mind as his mouth moves against her. She can’t think of anything but that, can’t keep a solid thought in her Spark-fogged mind as she throbs and trembles until, overwhelmed and overpowered and undone, she plunges over the edge with a strangled cry of a hum.

It takes a while before she catches her breath. Everything is warm and heavy, and when she finally manages to push herself back up into a sitting position and open her eyes, she finds Gil looking back at her. The hunger in his eyes burns brighter than before, but there’s something else, something softer, there too. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and he grins a little and kisses her thigh. She smiles, a little dazed still, and he pulls back to sit up and wipe his mouth across his arm.

Tarvek takes the opening. He hums and leans in between the two of them, reaching for Agatha’s face. His fingers are cold and gentle, and she shivers as they trail down her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. He holds her gaze for a few long seconds before his hand drops away, and he then turns to Gil. “My turn, I think,” he remarks, and without further hesitation he pushes forward until Gil is flat on his back and Tarvek is propped up on his elbows above him with a knee between his thighs.

“Tarvek...”

“What?” he breathes. His mouth is millimeters away from Gil’s shoulder, and Agatha can see him twitch at the heat against his skin. They’re beautiful together, her boys, and she, still warm and drifting in her afterglow, is more than happy to watch them move against each other—and to listen to it. 

“Tarvek, don’t tease—” He breaks off with a strangled sound as Tarvek presses his thigh downward and shifts up, his mouth moving to barely brush Gil’s lips instead.

“Oh, I’m not teasing.” He dips his head, catches Gil’s lower lip in his teeth, and pulls away with a smirk playing at his mouth. “But I could, if you want that.”

Gil responds with a frustrated groan and rolls his hips up, digging the nails of one hand into Tarvek’s side. He mumbles something through gritted teeth and then pulls his head down to kiss him again. But Tarvek ducks his head aside and escapes from his grip, and as Gil gives a thwarted moan and sinks back into the pillows, he reaches for the table and fumbles around for the bottle of lubricant.

While he digs around the drawer, Gil shifts toward Agatha and reaches for her hand. “You’re all right with... you know?” She nods, unable to stop the heat from rising in her face. He sees it, of course, and grins a little, squeezing her hand and leaning forward to plant kisses along her collarbone. “Good.”

She smiles and lets go of his hand to move behind him, settling so that he can lean back against her. She wraps her arms around his chest as Tarvek moves back toward them, resting her chin on his shoulder as Tarvek leans forward and drags a hand lazily down Gil’s torso, pressing their foreheads together. Agatha turns her face against Gil’s neck and listens to their ragged breathing and mumbled curses and the Spark-tinged desperate moans that shoot down to settle hot between her legs, and Gil’s gasp as Tarvek shuts his eyes and sinks down onto him shakes her to the bone.

He lets out a slow hiss as he starts to move, and as they find their rhythm he bears down on Gil, rocking faster and faster, his breath coming loud and harsh as Gil mumbles incoherently in French under his breath, his hands fisted in the sheets. 

She watches them move and twist and thrust, falling into each other, Gil surging up and Tarvek rocking forward, until at last, with the rhythm building and building, Tarvek flings a hand out; she takes it, and he looks up to lock eyes with her as Gil tenses and cries out before slumping, spent, back against her. As they catch their breath, Tarvek slips his hand from hers and rolls free of Gil, and they watch each other for a moment before she reaches out, around Gil, to touch his chest.

“Agatha,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. His damp hair is plastered to his forehead, and as she moves forward and into his lap, his eyes widen. Gil presses himself against her back, and for a while they sit like that, gaining back their breath to breathe each other in, with Tarvek’s arms loose around her waist and Gil’s head buried in her hair. Then Tarvek’s arms tighten around her and she leans into him, moving forward until she can wrap her legs around his waist. 

He kisses her as she eases herself downward, and their noises muffled by each other’s mouths, they move together slowly, softly, with his hands stroking her back and hers around him and Gil leaning against them both, kissing her back, her neck, Tarvek’s shoulders. She can feel him tensing, starting to lose himself, and she moves faster, harder, picking up pace as she starts to tremble. Tarvek’s hands find her hips and his lips find her throat as it builds and builds until, all at once, the heat of it floods over her.

When she surfaces she is warm and sated and every bit of her body is gloriously tired, and she leans in to press her head against Tarvek’s, riding it out with him as his breath grows harsher and his body tenses and his hands tighten on her hips. He moans something incomprehensible, and Gil kisses his neck again, arms around his waist. He drops his head to press it into her shoulder and then he is gone, gasping, his spasms trembling through all three of them.

When they are disentangled, she lies between them, too exhausted to move. Behind her, Gil shifts to kiss the top of her ear, staying close against her; she watches through lidded eyes as he reaches over her to stroke Tarvek’s cheek, earning him a tired smile as he shifts closer to them both beneath the blankets.

“Did you know that I love you?” mumbles Gil, his voice hazy with exhaustion. Tarvek, burrowing deeper into the blankets, gives a sleepy laugh and twines his feet with both of theirs, and Agatha shuts her eyes and smiles and listens to them breathe.