Fic: Fiesta del tres

[withthepilot]

Title: Fiesta del tres
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Helpings of Karl/Zach, Chris/Zach, Karl/Chris, and finally, lots of Karl/Chris/Zach
Notes: ~11K. In what seems to be a disturbing trend on my part, here's another fic inspired by terrible pop music—in this case, "3" by Britney Spears. I fell in love with a remix of the track and couldn't get the idea of this threesome out of my head while listening. I do want to point out that this fic is not in the same verse as Disco Stick. Also includes some Spanish, but nothing that's too difficult to figure out. Big thanks to starsandgraces for her helpful beta read. Apologies for cross-posting this, uh...everywhere.
Summary: The one where Zach is a saucy minx, Karl is dickmatized and Chris gets an offer to be the unwitting filling in a hot man sandwich.



It starts the morning after Zach's Fiesta del jueves bash—the latest in the ongoing string of impromptu celebrations he's thrown for no real reason other than to encourage some drunken debauchery amongst his friends. In this case, it was Thursday, so hey: time to party hard.

Chris wakes with his cheekbone propped uncomfortably against an arm of Zach's sofa. He's half on his stomach, half on his side, and there's a blanket draped over him, one corner of the fabric balled in his sweaty fist. One of his shoes hangs precariously from his big toe and Chris startles when Harold creeps up and bats it off, cursing loudly enough to send the cat running for cover. Chris rolls onto his back and grunts when the sunlight hits him right in his left eye, raising his hand to shield himself. He feels as though he probably drank a liter of tequila last night, which might be true, considering the way Zach was goading him on. He's getting too old for this shit, which is ironic because Zach's even older and the constant partying doesn't seem to bother him at all. He spends most of the day drinking herbal tea and practicing yoga and then at night, all bets are off when the Britney Spears remixes come on and the hard liquor starts to flow. Maybe all that hippie organic shit is actually making the guy younger; Chris rolls his tongue against the acrid roof of his mouth and wonders if he should go on a hunt for some wheatgrass juice.

Oh, well. At least he's wearing clothes. It's the small victories in life that are most important.

After a few minutes of worrying over the creaking sounds his body keeps making, Chris gets to his feet and does a cursory search for Harold and Noah through half-lidded eyes. He doesn't want to trip over any of Zach's pets on the way to the bathroom; Zach would surely never forgive him if he happened to break one of them.

The thing is, Zach's apartment is weird; the layout doesn't make sense at all and requires a certain level of sobriety to navigate. Chris is not currently at that level; he's more around the "manages to get around without smacking into a wall, if lucky" stage of the game. He knows Zach has a bathroom attached to his bedroom and another bathroom tucked somewhere near the guest room, but the latter is unusually far away from the living room and damn if he can figure out where the hell it is right now. He totters toward Zach's room as he tries to rub the morning crust from his eyes, not bothering to check and see whether Zach is still in bed. He probably is—if Chris drank a liter of tequila, Zach had to have imbibed at least a metric ton, and all the wheatgrass in the world can't combat a hangover like that.

He doesn't realize someone's actually in the bathroom until he walks in through the unlocked door and squints against the overhead lights and the sudden wall of steam. There's a voice, but it's a soft murmur—it's Zach, probably singing in the shower or trying to recite lines for a part. Chris exhales, his T-shirt sticking to him due to the heat emanating from the shower. He lifts a hand, about to mutter some kind of apology in case Zach heard him come in without knocking.

But then he hears a voice again. A second voice. And when he pries his eyes all the way open, at last, he gets the distinct impression that Zach isn't in there alone.

How does Chris figure it out? Well, easy. Right after he looks up, he's treated to the sight of Zach's naked body slamming against the glass door of the shower, held in place by two large hands. Chris startles, taking a step back and grabbing the edge of the sink so he doesn't fall over. He'd assume Zach was in some kind of danger, if it weren't for the long, loud moan he lets out as his fingers scrabble at the glass for purchase. It's frosted glass, so Chris can't see everything in detail, but he can make out the dark depths of Zach's eyes and the white flash of his teeth as he opens his mouth and groans in unadulterated pleasure. He's being fucked against the stall door, that much is for sure, and it looks to be hard and unrelenting and awesome, if Chris is any judge of the art of fucking. (He likes to think he is. If they started a porno version of Iron Chef—"Iron Cock"? No, bad idea, bad, ouch—he would expect to be invited on the show as a guest judge.)

At any rate, the Fiesta del jueves has lent itself nicely to the Sexo del viernes and Chris opens his mouth in shock, knowing he should get the hell out of there but somehow finding he's unable to move. That's when he hears—and recognizes—the other voice and any hope for walking out of the bathroom without a massive boner goes straight to hell.

"Yeah, Zach," says the unmistakable voice with the unmistakable growl, and if there was any doubt left as to the top's identity, it's erased when Zach answers with a loud, "Oh, my god, Karl."

Chris loses his grip on the sink and knocks Zach's electric toothbrush into the porcelain basin with a clatter. Karl doesn't seem to hear above the rush of the water but Zach definitely does; in a split second, his eyes are fixed on Chris' through the opaque glass of the shower door. Zach's vision is probably equally blurry but he must know it's Chris standing there, having placed the blanket on him earlier and knowing full well that Chris spent the night passed out on the sofa. Zach's fingers curl over the top of the door and Chris can see him grinning, the wide stripe of perfect, white teeth growing with every thrust—like he's excited that Chris is watching. It only lasts for a few seconds though, before he's rocking harder against the textured glass and dropping his head back, moaning wantonly and coming hard without Karl ever touching his cock.

As much as Chris would like to stay to hear Karl finish up, he takes the opportunity to run out of the room and make a mad dash for the second bathroom, where he locks the door, pushes his pants and boxers down, and gets to fucking work. He nearly doubles over with the force of his orgasm and comes all over himself; he bites his lip to keep from making noise, even though Zach and Karl surely can't hear from the other side of the apartment. Chris cleans his mess with a clump of toilet paper and flushes the evidence, taking a deep breath once he's done. He's surprised to find he's ridiculously alert and awake; apparently, watching two of your best friends have sex is a surefire hangover cure. He idly thinks he should write a book about this, or at least add it to the "hangover" Wikipedia page. It's only then that he remembers he originally went to the bathroom to pee; he makes a point of getting that done.

Chris returns to the sofa and sits awkwardly, drumming his fingers on his knees for a minute or so before he has a flash of What the fuck am I still doing here? and grabs his jacket from its perch on the armchair, tearing out of there. Fuck the wheatgrass; what he needs is coffee and a lot of it. He wonders if he could convince the pretty barista he knows to inject it directly between his fingers.

*

So, then the assholes invite him to brunch. Desástre del sábado.

Chris is the last one to get there and they're sitting at a table outside, so he leaves his sunglasses on as he sits down. He's a little hung over from another party he went to last night and his morning today has been completely devoid of hot guys having surprise sex in his shower, so he's still groggy. Hell, he's probably still hung over from the party on Thursday. Zach puts down his tea with an exasperated look and reaches over to snatch the shades from his face.

"Give me those. Jesus. You're at brunch with your friends; please grant us the honor of looking like you're somewhat present and interested."

Chris grunts and grabs his sunglasses back, propping them atop his head. "Man, I'm tired. I can't party every night like you can. I dunno how you geezers do it. It's like you've found the fountain of youth somewhere."

"Wheatgrass," Zach says, and Karl smirks beside him, pouring milk into his coffee. He's unusually quiet otherwise, though. Chris supposes that whatever they have planned, Zach has been tapped in advance to do the talking. He sighs and motions for the server to bring over another cup of coffee, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"I knew it," he sighs. "I'd still be asleep right now if it weren't for you two and your inane desire to have brunch."

"I like to brunch," Zach responds mildly, shifting as he crosses his legs under the table. He's wearing white trousers and an extremely loud top that's threatening to make Chris' eyes bleed. He looks at Karl and shrugs a shoulder. "Don't you, Karl?"

"Brunch is good," Karl agrees. "A whole meal invented for the purpose of socializing."

"Never thought of it that way," Chris murmurs. He licks his lips and tries to focus his eyes on the server when she comes back. Of course, she's standing right in the direction of the sun. "Western omelet," he says, handing her the menu without looking at it. "Home fries. White toast." She nods and turns to walk away, but then he stops her, leaning back in his chair. "Hey, wait—ah...make it whole wheat toast."

"Our baby boy is learning," Zach says, sipping his tea with a raised pinky. Karl laughs and smiles dashingly at the waitress. Chris lets his head loll back and prays for the food to arrive quickly.

He's about two-thirds of the way through his omelet when Karl finishes his coffee and takes that as a cue to make things uncomfortable.

"So, I hear you saw us have sex," he says, like he's talking about the weather or a basketball game or anything besides the moment when he fucked Zach into a shouting mess in his own shower. Chris' brain struggles to keep up with his mouth, which wants to speak but is currently occupied with his beverage. He dribbles coffee onto his chin and manages to catch it with his hand before it drips down onto his shirt.

"So not cool," he gasps when he's got the rest of his mouthful swallowed down. "Party foul. Fuck you. Holy shit."

"Here we go," Zach says. He sighs and finishes his multigrain waffle, spearing a slice of kiwi with his fork. "We get to hear a string of profanities as we hold off on the inevitable homophobic commentary from the peanut gallery. The anticipation is killing me, Christopher. Get it out of your system already."

"Whoa, whoa. Homophobic?" Chris puts down his fork, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "Zach, you're my best friend; how could you say I'm homophobic? No offense, but you look like Little Miss Muffet, sitting there and drinking your tea with your pinky up in the air like that. I kinda noticed you were gay a long time ago; it's not like I just got off the short yellow bus, here. And I mean, I didn't know you liked guys, Karl, but...hey, you learn something new every day."

Karl tilts his head and appraises Chris quietly after that, leaving Zach to keep chattering. "Oh, really," he drawls, making a point to lower his pinky finger. "So what was with the madcap exit yesterday, when you left my place without even saying goodbye?"

"Maybe I was a little too out of it to have a conversation that started with, 'Hey, Karl, nice job on the fudge-packing back there. And, oh, Zach, way to not slip on the soap. Lemme know if there's gonna be an encore.'"

"Encore?" Karl repeats, picking up immediately on the (admittedly) semi-obvious. He smiles lasciviously at Chris as the server drops by for coffee refills. Zach looks between the two men and puts the pieces together for himself, pointing a finger at Chris with one hand and slapping the other against the table.

"Oh, my god. You want in on the fucking!" he exclaims. The server reels back as if Zach just set the tablecloth on fire and he gives her a small smile. "Apologies," he whispers. Karl snorts into his coffee cup and Chris groans, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes and pushing his food around his plate.

"I didn't say that," he mutters. "I mean...yeah, it was kind of hot, but I didn't say that."

"Christopher wants a deep diiiicking," Zach sing-songs. He sips his tea, his pinky proudly pointing toward the sky again.

"Whatever, I mean..." Chris pauses, grabbing the ketchup and smacking the bottom of the bottle hard to douse the rest of his omelet and potatoes. Zach's brow lifts when he does, and he exchanges a quick grin with Karl. "I saw that," Chris admonishes. He shakes his head and caps the bottle again. "I mean, I didn't know you two were seeing each other—thanks for telling me, by the way, not like I'm your best friend or anything—so, yeah, it was unexpected and kind of sexy to watch, but I'm not gonna get between you if you guys are forging an actual relationship here. That'd just be shitty of me."

"We're just having fun," Karl says, shrugging nonchalantly. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted in, if Zach doesn't mind."

"Zach doesn't mind at all," Zach replies. "Zach thinks it sounds hot."

He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small date book—he's always preferred paper over an electronic gadget, Chris knows—and he flips to a page, then slides it across the table. Chris looks down and sees a calendar for the rest of the month with various notes about appointments and outings jotted here and there, like "Lunch with Leonard," "Heroes cast meeting" and "Fiesta del lunes."

"Monday parties, now? Gimme a break, man," Chris says, laughing weakly. Zach just folds his arms on the table and leans forward.

"Pick a night to come out and play," he says. Then he smiles crookedly, singing the rest of the lyric from that Britney song Chris remembers hearing at the party just the other night. "If it's alright...what do you say?"

Karl looks across at Zach with a sneer. "What the hell are you singing, Quinto?"

"It's a good song!"

"You know, I'm fucking you because you have a nice cock. If you turn into a woman and it falls off, I may have to reconsider my options."

"Um," Chris says. His hands shake slightly as the dates on the calendar blur together and he shuts the book quickly, shoving it back at Zach. He doesn't know how the hell they went from brunch to a flat-out proposition, but it's all moving a little too quickly, considering it's not even eleven o'clock yet and Chris still needs about two more cups of coffee before he'll feel like an actual person. It's just too fast, too soon after waking, too much. He gets to his feet suddenly, rattling the glasses and plates on the table in his haste. "I'll, um...I'll let you know. I gotta think about it. Brunch is on me next time, okay? Or, well...lunch. Brunch is too fucking early."

He knows Zach is gaping at him when he runs off, again, but sticking around to pat his shoulder or offer reassuring words would cut into the drama of his exit. So he just books it out of there.

He's halfway home when Karl texts him.

Sorry if we spooked you. But really, our offer is valid any time. We're both game if you are. If not, that's okay, too.

Ten minutes later, another one arrives, from Zach.

Way to stiff on us the bill, homophobe. P.S. What are you wearing?

He texts back, Thanks, I'll think about it and My heart on my sleeve, fuckface, respectively. Only Zach texts him back.

I'd be gentle with it, baby.

Chris licks his lips and puts his phone away.

*

The Fiesta del lunes turns out to be a wine and cheese sort of affair, much more subdued than most of Zach's recent ragers, but the e-mail invitation does suggest that each guest bring his or her own bottle of wine. Chris expects the Britney remixes to start pouring from the speakers no later than ten o'clock. He considers not attending for a few days, considering that he's avoiding Zach and Karl after that mind-fuck of a brunch. He has decided, though, that brunch was probably the best meal for a conversation such as theirs; as Karl said, it's a meal invented for socializing and the chances of stroking out or falling victim to cardiac arrest are likely much higher if your friends invite you into their bed after a dinner of beer, steak and potatoes.

Chris tucks a bottle of merlot under his arm and knocks lightly on Zach's door. He's not exactly surprised when Karl answers, but it does strike him as weirdly domestic that Zach's fuck buddy is welcoming guests at his home. Maybe they're more serious than they let on at brunch? Maybe it was all an act to get him into bed? Chris opens his mouth, his shoulders swiveling as if he's going to turn around and head back the way he came, but then Karl clasps the left one with his strong grip, holding him in place. He smiles a million-dollar smile, his bicep flexing beneath the sleeve of his polo, and Chris has to admit that his Kiwi friend is one damn good-looking brick house of a man.

"And here I thought the Earth swallowed you up," Karl says, smirking teasingly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Well, I figured...what else do I have to do on a lunes, right?"

Chris hands over the bottle of merlot, as if Karl's status makes him the party's co-host or something, and Karl takes it, looking a little guilty. It's an awkward moment, that's for sure, and Zach's not around right now to break the ice by accusing anyone of homophobia or latent bicuriosity. If Chris had to guess where Zach actually is, he'd probably say somewhere in the kitchen, flitting around with a glass of Prosecco and a cheeseboard, forcing wedges of imported Gouda and brie onto everyone.

"Listen," Karl starts, looking down at the bottle. "I didn't mean to make you feel—"

But then Zach is suddenly there, popping up behind Karl in the doorway with a scoff. "Um, hello, you're letting all the cool air—oh, my god, Chris!" He beams and snatches the bottle from Karl's hands, looking over the label with a satisfied sigh. "Oh, thank god, we just ran out of merlot. You're a lifesaver, baby."

Then, before Chris can even realize what's happening, Zach reaches out and grasps the back of his neck, pulling him in for a firm (and rather long) kiss on the lips. And it's not that he and Zach have never kissed before, it's just that it's never felt so...charged. Their past kisses have been friendly little pecks; whereas this is...what the fuck is this, anyway? That's what Chris' dick wants to know; it twitches in his jeans in lustful confusion and he nearly whimpers. When Zach pulls away, Chris feels like he could power up a fucking electric car with his mouth. He blinks, wide-eyed and stunned, unable to move a muscle as Zach grins devilishly at him. Even Karl looks a little lost for words.

"Come on, you two," Zach says, moving away from the door. "You especially, C. Whitelaw. Get your fine Pine behind into my house."

Then he's gone and there are a few seconds of peculiar silence before Karl purses his lips and takes on an almost philosophical tone. "As you can see, Zach has decided to take the aggressive approach."

And if Chris times it just so, he can swerve away from the doorway and run out of anyone's reach, dash all the way back to his car and fucking punch it back to his place without another word. He can just head on home and spare himself the likelihood of further innuendo-laden embarrassment that springs forth due to an overabundance of wine, cheese and hormones. Karl probably wouldn't even blame him. But he doesn't. He just gives him a dazed little smile and nods, stepping forward into the house.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate a little aggression.

The Britney doesn't start blasting until about half-past ten, which Chris can only assume is due to an unprecedented show of restraint on Zach's part. All of the cheese is long gone, a few broken crackers left here and there on small plates scattered all around the kitchen and living room. A few bottles of wine still remain, but probably not for long; everyone got bored of tasting and moved on to guzzling a long time ago.

Chris excuses himself from a conversation with a girl he knows he's met a few times before and whose name completely escapes him throughout their entire fifteen-minute chat. He's feeling bleary from a plethora of pinot grigio, pinot noir, shiraz and probably some other kind of pinot, and he leaves the kitchen to go and find the sofa, amazed that no one has beaten him to it. Maybe everyone knows he has a claim on it after he set up camp there last time. Chris takes a seat and sips slowly from a glass of merlot—the one he brought, it's not half-bad—and watches the merrymaking go on around him.

Most everyone is trashed or well on their way there. Chris crosses his legs and looks on with mild interest as a few people start to dance in the space that's been cleared of furniture. It's Zach and Karl grinding against each other that ends up catching his eye—they're in the corner, by one of the mahogany bookcases, and they're so into it that they're liable to knock over all the multiple editions of Berryman and Hemingway just resting there, minding their own business. Somehow, though, the two men manage to keep their distance; they hold onto each other with looks of rapture as their hips align and rock in time with the pulsing beat. No one else seems to notice or really care and Chris can't help but think he might have been the last to know about them. And that kind of pisses him off, in a way.

Chris takes a long swig of his wine as the song switches over to something new and he idly thinks about heading out while no one's paying attention. Then he feels a warm weight pressing against him and oh, hey, he's being treated to a lapful of Zach Quinto. Drunken, handsy, affectionate Zach Quinto and his hot, hot breath tinged with the heady scent of red wine. Chris gets a glimpse of his teeth (just as he did in the shower that morning), lightly stained violet from all the drinking; he places a hand on Zach's hip to steady him despite his first instinct to push him off. Zach nuzzles against the side of his neck, wrapping his arms around Chris' shoulders.

"Hey, baby," Zach slurs, brushing the bridge of his nose back and forth against Chris' earlobe. Chris tries not to squirm or to let on that his dick is expressing its curiosity again. "What're you doing over here, sitting all by yourself? You look too hot to be alone...should come dance with us." He runs his palm over Chris' chest, leaving a wet trail from his lips along his jaw. Yeah, his dick is definitely interested now.

"Think I'm too drunk," Chris tries, but his growing erection is sort of giving him away. It's only a matter of time before Zach notices it. "Was probably gonna head home soon."

"I'm not drunk enough to let you drive, dummy."

Zach smiles fondly at him and Chris allows his nerves to ease a little when he sees the friendly expression. But then Zach shifts so his knee brushes against Chris' cock and he really can't hold in the gasp that rips its way out of his throat and, well...game over, right? Zach's smile goes from sweet to predatory in about 1.3 seconds and then he's leaning forward again, their wine-stained mouths dangerously close.

"Stop the presses," he murmurs. "You've been holding out on me, Pine."

"Zach, I'm not—"

"Karl and I want to sleep with you so much, you know," Zach continues. He shifts to straddle Chris' thighs and oh, hello, Zach's matching erection, how do you do this evening? Chris presses back into the sofa and thinks about his car, his shiny and safe haven of a car, sitting out front and mocking him for not driving it the fuck out of here when he still had a chance. But who is he kidding, really? He's here because he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this could happen. And the part of him that's not intimidated or worried about ruining his friendships or just plain shy seems to really, really want this, given the fact that it's rubbing against Zach's bulge. Zach grins, his limbs shivering against Chris, and fuck, even that's hot.

"Just tell me," he whispers. His breath feels even warmer than it did a moment before. "Just say the word and I'll make everyone here get the fuck out and we'll do this right now."

Chris is so hyper-aware of his own body that he can feel the slide of his larynx against the inside of his throat as he swallows. His fingers twitch along Zach's hip and he parts his lips, waiting for his own voice to speak. "I..."

"Zach," a gruff voice suddenly says, and the warmth of Zach's form leaves Chris' lap as Karl pulls him back. "Lay off him, okay? Let him decide on his own time."

"But he's so—"

"Um, hey!" Chris wishes he could grab a throw pillow to cover his crotch at the exact moment that Zach gestures to his bulge and Karl's eyes widen to a ludicrous diameter, but there's no use, really. What's been seen has been seen and Chris just needs to breathe some air that's not thick with tension and reeking of wine. "I'm gonna go crash in the guest room, if that's okay. Yeah. So, if you need me..."

"Yeah, fine," Zach says. He wrenches his arm away from Karl and pouts. Chris takes the impending lovers' quarrel as his cue to leave.

He's sober enough to find the guest bedroom this time, but too drunk to bother going into the bathroom for some relief. Chris shuts the door and lets gravity drop him onto the bed, fully clothed. As soon as he hits the mattress, his head begins to swim with all the alcohol he's consumed and he realizes just how drunk he really is. He falls asleep to the thought of Zach yelling at Karl for cock-blocking him, pressing a little smile into the pillow.

The next morning, Zach's entire house smells like a ravaged wine cellar and Noah and Harold look a bit traumatized. Chris doesn't bother showering, just swishes some Scope around in his mouth and puts on his sunglasses to cover his bloodshot eyes. He covers his ears so he doesn't hear the telltale moans of the two "fuck buddies" emanating from the main bedroom as he takes his leave, yet again—if he's hearing correctly, Karl is dutifully fucking any leftover moodiness right out of his good buddy Zach. It seems like they've all but forgotten Chris and he can't quite decide if he's relieved or not. He tries to shut the door quietly behind him.

*

Karl shows up at his place, a mere three hours later. Confrontación del martes.

(It might be getting old by now, but Chris can't help himself.)

"What took you so long?" he says as he opens the front door. Karl smiles wryly and holds up a bag of In-N-Out take-out. Chris feels his mouth water as the scent of the food hits his nostrils. He hasn't had much to eat in the past twenty-four hours beyond cereal and cheese with crackers.

"I had to make a pit stop."

"Are you sure you haven't come to seduce me? Because this totally works. In fact, who did you grill for information? I want to know who betrayed me."

"The secret dies with me, Mister Pine," Karl drawls, maneuvering his way inside.

They sit down to their Double-Doubles and watch a rerun of Friends, which is slightly unbearable but not enough to make them change the channel. Chris sips at his shake—vanilla, his favorite, and he kinda loves Karl for knowing that—and tries to look away when Karl sucks spread and burger grease from his fingertips. He's never quite noticed what a sensuous mouth the man has before, but now that he's looking...yeah. Kind of perfect, actually. His thoughts start to drift toward the image of Karl kneeling in front of Zach and putting those lips to good use, and that's when he realizes he has to distract himself before he chokes on his drink.

"Hey," he says, looking at the television, "has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like Joey?"

"Fuck you," Karl replies, mock offense in his voice. "You look like the blond girl."

"No, I don't. If I look like any of them, it's probably Rachel."

"I won't argue that."

Karl gives him a smug little smile and Chris laughs, nodding to concede that he's been defeated in this round. He grabs a few fries and looks off in thought as he eats them, licking the salt from his thumb. Then Karl clears his throat beside him and Chris jerks out of his reverie, remembering that, oh yeah, there's a huge elephant in the room, holding up a sign that says Karl + Zach + Chris = Gay Sextravaganza.

"So I take it Zach didn't send you over here to discuss resemblances to '90s sitcom characters," he says.

"Zach didn't send me over at all. In fact, he's moping at home because he thinks he ruined our chances with you." Karl sips his own shake, shrugging after a moment. "Well, that and he's embarrassed for nearly shoving his hand down your trousers in front of the entire party. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him the aggressive approach doesn't work on everyone. Had to learn it the hard way." He pauses, pursing his lips. "No pun intended, that is."

"Ha, well... To be honest, I probably would have let him if you hadn't come along." Chris smiles slightly when Karl gives him an inquisitive look. If he can't be honest with a man who brought him fast food without asking, who can he be honest with, really? "I mean, he's an attractive guy. And, um...highly persuasive."

Karl laughs suddenly at that. "Don't I know it. When we started out, I thought it would be a one-time thing, but whenever I'm around him now, I just..." He shivers as he trails off and Chris grins in amusement.

"Oh, man. You're dickmatized, aren't you?" he asks. Karl gives him a sour look.

"I wouldn't normally put it in such a crude fashion, but...yes, fine. A little bit."

Chris can't help the giggle that naturally comes from hearing Karl fucking Urban admitting to being dickmatized by Queen Quinto. "Karl, I hardly knew ye."

"Yeah, well. I think Zach's a little...dickmatized himself, after getting a look at your impressive package last night, mate. I mean, we knew, but...I almost want to send a mazel tov card to your parents."

"Okay, I know you're impressed if you're pulling out Hebrew," Chris says. He's trying to keep it light but he knows damn well he's blushing like a schoolgirl. "And I'm flattered, honestly, but...I worry it'll make things weird between all of us."

Karl nods understandingly, patting his shoulder. "Which I explained to Quinto and he went on some tirade about how if it's no good, we can go right back to being friends, no questions asked..."

"But it doesn't work that way," Chris appends, spreading his slightly greasy hands out. Karl nods again, swirling his straw around in his shake.

"It's a risk," he says. "But you know how Zach and I feel about you. I, for one, wouldn't let you squirm out of our friendship so easily." He gives Chris a warm, genuine smile and motions to the empty In-N-Out bags strewn over the coffee table. "I need someone to enable me into eating my daily allotted two-thousand calories in one sitting. I can only stand so much of that wheatgrass shit."

Chris laughs easily, feeling a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders. He licks his lips and reaches forward to put the last of his food on the table, freeing his hands. He can't even believe he's about to do this, but it's one of those do-or-die moments that are pretty hard to resist, when they come along. Plus, Karl just looks so good, mouth slick and stretched into that inviting, friendly smile. Chris' resolve is only so strong.

"Well," he says, on an exhalation, "I got a kiss from Zach last night but I think I'm gonna need to get a sample of your goods, too, if I'm gonna march into any steadfast decision, here. I mean, it's only fair."

"Right." Karl grins at him, turning to face him. "It's only fair to me, too. Just because I'm not as saucy as Quinto can be..."

"Sure, sure. You showed some admirable restraint and you should be rewarded, really."

"Right," Karl says again.

They share a smile and there's a near-awkward moment of silence before Karl leans in and presses their lips together firmly. Chris keeps his eyes open for a second, then lets them flutter shut when Karl's thumb strokes over the strong line of his jaw. It feels comforting and good and he kind of wants to fucking melt. His lips part automatically when he feels Karl's tongue slide against them, and then it's nothing but an exchange of damp, sweet heat. Chris reaches up and curls his fingers around Karl's forearm to hold him there; he finds he likes the gentle touching as much as he liked Zach's aggression.

The thought crosses his mind that he could have the best of both worlds, if he wants it. It's all right here, just waiting for him. It could be fucking golden.

"Okay," he says with a gasp, when their mouths finally part. He nods definitively and swallows, licking his lips to chase after the taste of Karl. "Let's do it."

"You sure?" Karl asks, his eyes hopeful. He laughs faintly when Chris nods again and pulls out his phone, dialing a number and putting the call on speakerphone. Chris doesn't have to see the screen to know who he's calling.

"What," Zach says flatly when he picks up. "Don't tell me you miss my ass already. Or, wait—you want phone sex, don't you? I'll talk dirty to you but I have to mop the kitchen floor during; there's wine stains everywhere."

"I'm with Chris," Karl replies, smirking over at him on the sofa. "And he's in. You're on speakerphone, by the way, dingus."

"Oh," Zach says after a moment. Chris muffles a snort into his hand as they wait for Zach to collect his thoughts. "You kissed him, didn't you? Asshole."

"It was only fair!" Karl protests. Chris bursts into laughter beside him. "You got to do it yesterday!"

"That was a hello kiss! Totally different. Ugh. But he's a fucking good kisser, isn't he, Chris?"

"Very good," Chris says, shaking his head in amusement. "If that was your hello kiss, I'm interested in seeing what a real kiss will be like."

"Oh, you will see, very soon. I'll send an Evite. Oh, and no more kissing without me, damn it. Back away from that boy's pretty mouth, Urban."

Zach hangs up. Chris only has to look at Karl and mouth the word "Evite?" before they're roaring with laughter again. Because only Zachary Quinto would send an Evite to a fucking threesome.

Chris kind of can't wait.

*

It pops up in his inbox a few hours later: Zachary Quinto has sent you an Evite Invitation. And then, when he opens it: You are invited to Fiesta del tres by Zachary Quinto.

Fiesta del tres. Honestly.

He clicks on the invitation and goes to the site, steeling himself before he RSVPs yes. He leaves a note for the host, while he's at it.

With bells on. —CP

When he checks again later, everyone has RSVP'd yes and there are two replies.

Kinky. I like a soundtrack. —ZQ

Zach, don't forget to buy more lube. KU

Chris looks away from his laptop and laughs, shoving popcorn into his mouth. He has no idea what he's getting into and he can finally admit that it's rather exciting.

*

Chris wakes up a few days later and turns on his phone, taking a deep breath when it beeps and flashes a reminder message at him: Fiesta del tres.

Today's the day. The time spent waiting has been simultaneously fleeting and endless.

They've all agreed that it's going to go down at Zach's, as that's where most fiestas take place. Chris has scheduled lunch with his sister and a meeting with his agent before he's due to make his way over there this evening; after breakfast and a hot shower, he stands in front of his closet for ages, faced with the seemingly monumental task of picking out an outfit that suits all three activities. He settles on a blue button-down shirt and jeans with a rinse so dark they almost appear black. After a few minutes of staring at himself in the mirror, he tries on a sweater vest over the shirt; then he decides he looks like an idiot and takes it off.

He doesn't bring it up to his sister; she'd probably just tell him he's a moron for even considering it. Hell, he knows he's a moron. But he can't back out now. Chris finds himself fidgeting with his napkin after she excuses herself to go to the bathroom; he ends up pulling out his phone and texting Zach and Karl.

You guys as nervous as I am?

Karl's reply comes about thirty seconds later: A little, yes. But it's going to be great, I'm sure of it. Zach's answer arrives later, when they're both almost through with their meals. Chris murmurs an apology as he checks his phone, already having forgotten that he sent the text.

Probably twice as much. But excited, too. Can't wait to see you, Chris.

Chris stares at his phone for a few moments. He must have surprise written all over his face, because his sister pauses in her eating to address him.

"Everything okay?" she asks. "Bad news?"

Chris shakes his head and smiles absently, sliding the phone back into his pocket and taking a sip of his Diet Coke. "No...good news, actually. Surprisingly nice news."

Later, he hangs out in Zach's driveway for a long time, bobbing his head and banging his fingers against his steering wheel in time with the beat of whatever drivel is playing on the radio. For the first ten minutes, he doesn't even steal a glance at Zach's front door.

This time, Zach greets Chris after he knocks. He's not wearing anything particularly loud—just a striped, long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Chris notes that his feet are bare; he finds it to be somehow both endearing and sexy.

"We were going to start taking bets on how long you'd stay in your car," Zach says, grinning as he motions to the vehicle, which is totally visible from the living room window. His expression is soft, though. "I like that shirt on you," he adds.

"I've been told it brings out the blue in my eyes," Chris says. He feels himself blush as Zach steps back and lets him inside. "Sorry to make you wait. I've just had this weird, like...wired feeling, all day. I needed to get my heart rate down to a normal level."

"So I guess double shots of espresso are out of the question." Zach smirks and pulls Chris into a hug, which is yet another surprise; he's thankful for it. "I'm glad you're here," he says, lightly rubbing Chris' back. "We both are."

"Where is the big man, anyway?"

"Present and accounted for," Karl says, emerging from Zach's bedroom. He smiles, looking more sheepish than Chris has ever seen him, with his shoulders lifted and his hands buried in his pockets. "I was just getting things ready. I mean...I was making sure we had everything we needed."

Chris laughs, a little breathless as he imagines just what Karl means. "Does that mean we're not fucking in the kitchen?" he asks, holding his hands out. Then Zach and Karl laugh too, and he shrugs haplessly. "Because I totally thought we'd be knocking over blenders and toasters and shit."

"Well, we could, but I really like my blender," Zach says, smirking.

"We thought we'd spend the majority of the evening in the bedroom," Karl adds. He still looks a little awkward and shy and Chris thinks it's pretty adorable. "We're romantics at heart, Quinto and me."

"Speak for yourself." Zach ducks his head and rubs his bare toes together, directing a smile toward the floor. "I'm a minx, through and through."

Chris looks between the two men and wonders for a moment if they're playing a trick on him—if this is "Smile, you're on Candid Camera!" type of stuff. "Okay, so all of a sudden, you guys are bashful?" he asks, squinting in disbelief. "What happened to all the brunch bravado? The deep dicking jokes? When is Zach going to start quoting Britney to me? Don't leave me hanging here, guys."

"It's different now that you're here," Zach says slowly, rolling his eyes. Finally, a gesture Chris can relate to. "We want to make sure everything is good for you."

Karl nods, stepping closer and pulling his hands from his pockets. "Right. And if anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, Chris, anything at all—just tell us and we'll stop, no questions asked." Chris smiles at the show of concern, which he finds utterly endearing. He furrows his brow in an exaggerated fashion and licks his lips. Zach seems to move a little closer to him when he does that.

"Well, if there's going to be whips and chains involved, I might need a safe word in advance."

"Don't be dramatic," Zach sighs. "I only bring people to the dungeon after the third date."

"Yeah, I think I'll be fine. But thanks, guys." Chris laughs and they all exchange brief smiles before he shrugs at them. "So...how do we actually start? I've never actually initiated a threesome before. Do we just go at it, or...?"

"We could all don our Star Trek costumes to break the ice. Or maybe just the tops; put the rest on full display," Karl suggests, arching his eyebrow.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a glass of wine," Zach retorts, then adds, "Pervert." He swishes his way into the kitchen, motioning for Karl to head to the wine refrigerator. "I've got a chardonnay and a pinot grigio chilling in there. You're the guest, Chris—any preference?"

Chris trails after Zach and shrugs. "I'm good with either, but maybe...pinot grigio?"

"Sounds good," Karl says. He goes to fetch the correct bottle from the small fridge and hunts down the bottle opener while Zach busies himself with collecting glasses from the cabinet. Chris finds himself fascinated with the graceful way that Zach moves; he notes the movement of his muscles under his shirt when he reaches up and the pale curve of his throat, partially marked with faint stubble. Karl looks pretty good, too, strong and solid as he works on uncorking the wine bottle, but Chris' attention is mainly on Zach at the moment—saucy minx extraordinaire, suddenly turned shy violet.

Chris steps closer to the counter as Zach arranges the glasses in a row, and when he looks up with a bright and curious gleam in his eyes, Chris decides to be, well...decisive. Before he can second-guess himself, he slides his fingers over the side of Zach's neck and erases the distance between them with a kiss. It's not nearly as aggressive as their last kiss—quite tender, actually—but still firm and assertive. Zach's response is tentative for only a second, before he opens up to Chris and lets him take the lead, pressing close to him. Chris catches at his bottom lip and tugs teasingly, just as the pop of the bottle cork coming loose echoes around the room.

"Hey! Wait for me, will you?" Karl exclaims, putting down the wine bottle and making his way over with a grin. Chris and Zach separate to regard him but keep their mouths close to each other. Chris can't help but grin back at Karl, though. "Just when my back is turned," Karl says, licking his lips. He shakes his head fondly at Zach. "You kissed him, didn't you? Arsehole."

"Actually, he kissed me," Zach clarifies, giving Chris a knowing look.

"Really," Karl says. "Well, there's a surprise."

Chris smiles and shrugs one shoulder, flushing slightly under the scrutiny. "A nice surprise, I hope."

"Definitely." Karl leans in and kisses him softly, then grabs the opened bottle, pouring out a glass of wine. "Please, continue," he says, and Chris sees little use in not doing exactly as the man requests. He angles himself to give Karl an optimal view and lets Zach reel him back in.

*

Chris can only process two coherent thoughts by the time he's being slammed against the wall of Zach's bedroom: Fuck, this is awesome and Why the fuck didn't we do this sooner?

Then Karl puts his mouth on him and it's only one resounding Fuck.

Things escalated fairly quickly back in the kitchen, as Karl was only able to quietly sip wine and watch his two friends making out for so long before getting involved. Chris had his hand fisted in Zach's striped top when Karl grabbed his arm and pulled him away, taking Chris' mouth for himself, holding his body flush against him by his hips. Just as Zach's kiss was different than Chris remembered, Karl's was new as well—deeper and probing, his tongue delving quickly past Chris' lips and rolling against his palate. Then Zach came up behind them, his hands sliding up and down along Chris' sides and over his torso. He undid the buttons on the blue button-down and murmured soft words of encouragement into Chris' ear, licking along the delicate shell.

His top came off, quickly followed by the thin undershirt beneath, and before Chris knew it, he was the half-nude filling in the Quinto/Urban sandwich. He blinked dazedly as he realized this was all about him, his cock pulsing against his jeans at the very thought.

"Karl wants to suck you," Zach whispered in his ear. "Is that okay?" Chris groaned in response; as if he was really going to take issue with that.

"As if the man's going to protest after he saw me eat a Double-Double," Karl said, smirking. "He knows what he's in for."

Chris really didn't know but he had a good feeling about it when Karl and Zach ushered him into the bedroom, leaving the wine abandoned in the kitchen with the glasses, one half-full and the others untouched. Not a drop had touched Chris' lips and yet he felt more intoxicated than he had at any fiesta in recent memory.

Karl's mouth feels like the inside of a velveteen glove as it molds itself to Chris' cock, the warm heat engulfing him when he hollows his cheeks. Zach is pressed against his side, distracting him with lazy, wet kisses, but he seems to be just as preoccupied by the sight of Chris' length sliding back and forth between Karl's lips. Chris hisses gratefully when Zach's fingertips find his nipples, offering soothing rubs after light scrapes of his nails. He tries to concentrate on not bucking too hard, keeping his fingers curled tightly over Karl's still-clothed (and really, they should remedy that soon, they're both far too covered up) shoulder, until Zach takes his wrist in hand, guiding it to Karl's silken hair.

"Fuck his mouth," he instructs. He pinches Chris' nipple for emphasis, making him gasp. "Then I'll fuck yours."

Chris licks his lips, glancing down at the man crouched between his legs, then at Zach. He should have known Quinto was going to be a pushy bottom—not that he's complaining. Karl seems to respond immediately when Chris tightens his fingers in his hair, acquiescing to the tacit instruction to remain still. Zach curls his tongue in Chris' ear to egg him on and Chris shudders as he pushes his hips forward, pressing his cock further into Karl's open mouth. Karl moans around him and the vibration makes Chris jerk; he groans when he feels his cock head brush against the back of his friend's throat.

"So fucking big and gorgeous," Zach whispers, scratching lightly down Chris' chest. "Karl's wanted to do this since the moment he saw you at the party."

Chris catches a mischievous gleam in Karl's dark, hazel eyes and he can't even find the words to answer Zach, so he kisses him instead, messy and desperate. He keeps thrusting into Karl's mouth, twitching with every deft swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth. The man is as talented as advertised and Chris isn't sure he's ever been this hard in his life, but he doesn't want to come yet, not this soon. He isn't sure if it's Karl who pulls his jeans further down his thighs or if it's Zach, but he shivers when the cool air hits his feverish skin and almost loses it altogether when a wet finger slides down behind his balls.

"Oh, god," he blurts, his knees buckling slightly with the damp pressure. Zach holds him up and nudges Karl to move back, leaving Chris' cock slick and wanting, bumping up against his stomach.

"Bed," Zach commands. Chris is so grateful he could cry.

As soon as he's sprawled out on top of Zach's black and white patterned sheets, he feels his shoes and socks being pulled off, along with his jeans. Chris leans up on his elbows when he realizes that Zach and Karl are both yanking off their own shirts, not wanting to miss any part of the show. It's nothing he hasn't seen before—they both have spectacular physiques, sort of a Hollywood requirement—but he's definitely viewing them in a new light. Karl shifts to kneel between Chris' legs, pushing them apart, but he waits to go back to work as Zach crouches next to Chris, opening his own jeans. Chris turns his head to watch as Zach takes his cock in hand and strokes himself firmly; he's already hard and leaking and Chris' thoughts drift back to his earlier promise, causing his mouth to water.

"Ready?" Zach asks. Chris nods and smiles slightly; it's nothing he hasn't done before. He makes a faint sound when Zach nudges his cock against his cheekbone and drags the tip across his kiss-bitten lips; then he accepts it into his mouth, moaning with a level of pleasure he wasn't sure he was capable of feeling, just from giving head. Zach groans lowly as he watches Chris take him in, his fingers light and fleeting along his jaw, his temple. They sift through Chris' hair and he swirls his tongue in response, gratified by the raspy sound of Zach's voice when he speaks again. "Now," he says, presumably to Karl, as Chris is overwhelmed by the glorious, now familiar heat of his mouth again.

Chris uses all the best techniques he knows on Zach, trying to get a feel for what he likes. He nudges his tongue repeatedly under the head of Zach's cock and follows it up with a gentle brush of teeth along the pulsing vein; he wants to smile when he hears a loud moan ring out above him. It's ridiculously difficult to keep up the pace, though, when Karl's tongue is busy performing magic tricks between his legs, and Chris finds he's relieved when Zach finally clutches his hair and stills him, making good on his promise. He feels utterly debauched, spread out like a human smorgasbord between the two men, and Zach's dirty little mutterings only push him closer to the edge.

"Fuck, he's so good, Karl...takes it so well; look at him," Zach says. Chris feels Karl's answering moan more so than he hears it, buzzing around his length. His orgasm is starting to pool deep in his belly and he gasps hoarsely when Zach pulls him off his cock, barely taking in a breath before Zach gives his orders again. "Make him come."

Then the delicious pressure is back, Karl's fingers stroking up and down along his perineum and pausing at his entrance, rubbing in circles. Karl pulls back and sucks hard on the head of Chris' cock just as he pushes the tip of one finger inside and that's it—Chris' orgasm unfurls itself like a windstorm gone mad inside his gut and a rosy flush spreads like wildfire over his chest and throat. His cry sounds foreign to his own ears as arches up from the bed and comes hard into Karl's waiting mouth, Zach's hands holding him down by his shoulders so he doesn't thrash.

Chris opens his eyes a few moments—or minutes, who knows—later and finds that no one is touching him. The fuck? he thinks, reaching out blindly for someone and rolling onto his stomach with the effort. For a second, he thinks maybe the others left him here alone and he's about to get indignant when he hears a familiar gust of soft laughter. When he looks up, Zach and Karl are tangled up in each other, farther down the bed, pale and olive chests pressed together in a highly pleasing fashion. Zach tips his head back to expose more of his neck to Karl, who's busy with mouthing and licking his way across it, sucking obscenely at the bobbing Adam's apple.

"Hey, baby," Zach murmurs. He dips his hand past the waistband of Karl's jeans and palms his ass. "Thought we'd give you a breather."

"More like a show," Chris mumbles. He folds his arms beneath his head and presses his mouth to his wrist, watching the two of them avidly. Zach laughs again, his other hand shifting out of view; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where it's gone, if Karl's sudden, ragged moan is any kind of clue.

"You're using your words again," Zach says breathlessly, grinning at Chris even as he works his hand on Karl's cock. "It's so cute the way you become speechless during sex. Don't you think so, Karl?" Chris spies a sudden twist and flex of Zach's wrist and Karl's got his face buried in the crook of his lover's neck now, his entire body tensing.

"You ask me," he says, growling, "you talk too damn much anyway, Zachary."

"Oh, you love it."

Chris bites down on the thin skin of his wrist, pressing his hips against the mattress. He can barely believe that these two are getting him going again, so soon. Sure, he's still pretty young and virile, but this is just fucking insane. He rakes his eyes shamelessly over the vision of Zach and Karl kissing deeply, flashes of probing, searching tongues making his cock stir with great interest. It doesn't take long before he's rutting against the bed, his breath coming faster through his nostrils. The movement of his hips makes Zach lean back and take notice; he motions for Karl to look, too.

"Ah, youth," Zach murmurs. His grin is blindingly bright and Chris laughs a bit.

"I'm trying that wheatgrass thing."

"You speak only lies," Zach says, kissing Karl's smiling mouth before extricating himself from their embrace. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

"Yeah." Karl crawls toward the nightstand, fetching the condoms and lube that Chris can only assume he laid out earlier—the items that had him looking all shy and boyish when he first emerged from the bedroom. He leans toward Zach, kissing his ear and raising his brow. "I don't think I have to ask, but..."

"I want him," Zach replies, directing a voracious gaze at Chris. He can't help but swallow as Karl places a condom and the bottle in his hands, clapping his shoulder.

"You're a lucky man, mate," he says. Chris smiles lopsidedly as he rips open the packet with his teeth and Zach grins, moving to lie back on the bed.

Once Chris has the condom on, he moves between Zach's spread legs, both bent at the knees. He licks his lips in concentration as he opens up the lube but then Zach snatches it away, taking him by surprise.

"I think another show is in order," Zach murmurs. Chris only wonders at what he means for a second before Karl is pulling him back against his chest, palming over Chris' balls as they both watch Zach sink a pair of lubed fingers into his own hole. Chris can only exhale in dizzy disbelief, watching the scene unfold with glassy eyes and shivering when Karl kisses the side of his neck. Zach looks right back at him, speaking between small puffs of breath as he opens himself up.

"Fuck, Christopher...love the way your eyes go so bright when you're aroused. Everything about you is so fucking hot, you know that...?"

"I'm..." Chris starts, but Zach was right—he's turned on as all hell and he's having extreme difficulty in simply catching up with everything Zach is throwing at him. The man is just...overwhelming. Karl smirks and traces a fingertip slowly along the underside of Chris' cock. He's got to be pleased, knowing he's not the only one who's dickmatized now.

"Just let him talk," Karl murmurs. "That's what I do. Then I get him back by making him scream." Zach laughs at that, trailing off into a sharp moan when he curls his fingers against just the right spot, his hips bucking hard.

"Yeah, okay," Chris says. He shifts forward and reaches out instinctively to grasp Zach's thigh, pulling him closer. Karl lets him go as he positions himself and Zach drapes his legs over Chris' shoulders, his reddened cock jutting up with the movement. Chris smoothes his hand over Zach's stomach, avoiding the shaft even as it twitches, and wonders just how the hell the man has been able to go this long without coming. That fucking wheatgrass must be a liquid miracle.

He's just about to push in when Zach tells him to wait with a wicked look in his dark eyes; Chris wants to totally go off on him until he feels slick fingers rubbing their way across his own entrance. His mind fuzzes with static as he realizes just what's happening behind him. Somehow, he didn't see this coming and he's this close to proposing to both of them right here and now. Chris lets out a shaky gasp as Karl's finger sinks inside him and curls, quickly joined by another. He pushes back and allows his muscles to loosen, mouth slack as Zach's fingertips wander over his cheek, his thumb stroking over one eyebrow.

"You're also a lucky man," Zach says. Chris nods faintly, licking the sweat from above his upper lip. When Karl's fingers finally slide out, Chris doesn't waste any time; he holds Zach's thighs and pushes carefully into him, eyes transfixed on the rapt expression that washes over Zach's features. Then, when he's all the way in, he feels Karl's cock bury itself inside him, and he imagines his own face looks much the same.

The three of them slowly ease their way into a slow rhythm—Chris thrusting past Zach's initial tightness until he becomes accustomed to his size, and Karl taking it fairly easy on Chris who, admittedly, hasn't done this in a while. The moment that everything falls into place is instinctual; Chris feels Zach's muscles pulse around his length and hears his low groan and takes it as a cue to go faster, thrust deeper. Karl speeds up as well; rolling his hips in time with Chris and bending forward to mouth and nip at his shoulders. Chris groans as he feels multiple hands on him, sliding over the sweat-slick skin of his back and hips, the curve of his neck and down his heaving chest. Zach is tight and hot around him and the sight of him writhing on the bed makes Chris' own body tense with pleasure, causing Karl to thrust harder into him.

"Fuck," Chris grunts, faltering in his rhythm. Karl takes it as an opportunity to grip his hips with a firmer hold, controlling the movements of all three of their bodies at once, simultaneously fucking Chris and fucking Zach with Chris' cock. Zach moans appreciatively and Chris quickly finds himself swept up in it as well, the way he's being used as an instrument, almost... It's hotter than anything he's ever experienced. He reaches up with one hand to touch Karl's face, to grasp the muscle that joins his neck and shoulder, and takes Zach's cock in the other, stroking him in time with Karl's rhythm, which is quickly gathering in speed and intensity. Chris moves his hand with quick tugs, squeezing as he nears the head each time, and when he slides his thumb over the wet slit, Zach shouts his name, reaching out blindly. Out of the corner of Chris' eye, he sees Zach and Karl's hands find each other and hold on tightly; more than ever, he's humbled to be here with them.

Zach starts to tighten around his cock as he lets out a litany of mumbled pleases and yeses and Chris and Karl. Chris focuses on thrusting harder and twisting his hand in the way that makes Zach keen, giving him exactly what he wants. Then, Zach cries out hoarsely and comes all over his stomach and Chris' hand, and Chris feels Karl's breath hitch against the back of his neck at the sight. Strong hands pull his cheeks apart as he gets fucked harder, the loud slap of skin almost entrancing in its rhythm. Chris feels like his insides are quaking when Karl comes, grunting and biting down on Chris' shoulder, and he has to pause for a second to get his wits about him.

Of course, Zach doesn't let him stop for long, purposely clenching around Chris' shaft and murmuring, "One more time, baby," combing gentle fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. Karl stays inside him as he groans and continues thrusting, and then, between the thumbs stroking his nipples and the softening cock still insinuating itself against his hot spot when he moves, and the whispers of both men encouraging him to come, it happens. His head snaps back, a loud moan bursting forth from his throat, and he's bucking, seeing stars, hanging on to them both for dear life even as his release threatens to completely sweep him away.

Well, he thinks, with the little brain power he has left, that wasn't bad at all.

He's a bit limp and sleepy by the time Karl finds the strength to pull out of him, but Chris manages as well, though he's grateful when Zach reaches down to remove his condom for him. He rolls onto his side and smiles when Zach hands the tied-off rubber to Karl, smirking and murmuring, "Party clean-up crew."

"Fuck off," Karl says fondly, though he takes it and throws it into the trash bin with his own. He's at Chris' side a moment later, wrapping an arm and a leg around him and steering him to rest against Zach's chest, which is actually quite comfortable. "This was good," he says quietly. Then Chris hears him kiss Zach and he can't help but smirk into the soft tuft of chest hair beneath his cheek.

"'Just having fun,' my ass," he mutters. Zach flicks his ear and he smiles. "Can we follow this fiesta with a siesta, or what?"

"Oh, look, he's found his vocabulary again," Zach comments, lightly stroking over his scalp. "Multilingual, even. Thank god for that. I thought we'd need flash cards."

Karl rumbles a laugh behind him, tightening his arm around Chris' waist. "He's a smart cookie, this one. But we wouldn't let just any dummy in here."

"I like it here," Chris whispers, and whether here means Zach's bed or Zach's house or the cozy bit of heaven that exists between Zach and Karl's bodies, well...he's willing to go with any interpretation along those lines. There's a hand stroking his hip and lips pressing to the top of his head and no matter what body part belongs to which man, it all feels just right to him.

"Then you should stay awhile," Zach replies, yawning softly. "But we're waking your ass up for brunch tomorrow."

Chris shuts his eyes and burrows closer to both of them. Brunch is still too fucking early, but he can live with it.