(no subject)

[forthedog]

Shall the Center Never Shift
780 words
NC17

Lisbeth hisses when Mike touches her. It's not pain and it's not resistance—except it is that last, a little bit, just an edge of aggression because everything that Mike has ever done or said around her and everything that she knows about Neil tells her that it's something he'll like. That kind of fighting back.

Like. Feed on.

He curls his fingers into her hair and pulls her head back, not rough or hard but firm, and because it's interesting and because she's willing to humor him she allows him to do so. Then she feels his mouth on her throat, trailing things that might be somewhere in the vicinity of kisses down to her collarbones, and she's not humoring him so much anymore.

She slides back further on the kitchen table, one leg hooked around his waist, and she's pretty sure she feels something fall off and shatter and she couldn't possibly care any less.

And over his shoulder, her eyes meet Neil's where he sits on the couch and she grins.

And he grins back.

“Come on,” she says, her back still arched. She hooks an arm around his neck and tugs, wriggles a little, feigning impatience. Mike laughs, hands moving up under her shirt, and with her help he gets it off her and his mouth meets his fingers at her nipples.

She's still looking at Neil. He's looking back, and he doesn't have his jeans open but he does have a hand between his thighs, palming himself lazily as he watches them. She understands that on some level, this is for his benefit, that she's part of a show being put on for him.

And on another level this is all about her.

She rakes her fingers into Mike's hair and laughs.

It's fast. It's not elegant. Somewhere in between getting her hands down Mike's pants and Mike getting her pants off Neil's up next to her, hands on the table, leaning close with his lips against her ear. He's teasing her, they both fucking are, so she turns, curls a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him into a kiss that's close to biting and huffing out a gratified laugh into his mouth at the little whimper that she pulls out of him.

She hisses again when Mike pushes his fingers into her, pleasure tightening every muscle in her body. This is... this is new. Neil is panting against her neck; she got his zipper down a few minutes ago and her hand on his cock isn't especially slow or gentle. Mike has pulled back enough to be the one doing the watching now, eyes hooded, fingers fucking her open, breathing Jesus fucking Christ.

This is new. All this attention, focused on her. She doesn't have to fight for it. It's nothing she doesn't want. She's pulling all the strings, moving all the pieces. She practically drags Mike's cock into her, table rattling against the kitchen floor, her heels beating a tattoo into the meat of his ass. Neil's pants are halfway down his hips now and she's got him, right where she wants him, jerking breathy little moans out of him in counterpoint to the rhythm of Mike's hips. And Mike is moaning too, moaning and cursing and sounding almost broken, his hand against the small of her back and his forehead against her shoulder.

How did they even get here? But she knows. It's a straight route. No twists or turns.

She's laughing again when she comes, everything stretched to extremity and flying loose at once, her hips still grinding up against Mike in a stuttering rhythm as the last aftershocks roll through her. Somewhere, Neil is coming in a hot spatter against her palm and wrist; somewhere Mike is shuddering against her and groaning like it's being clawed out of him; both of these things matter but only in an academic sense. She's drifting, hot and lax and ready to stretch out catlike on the table or the floor or the bed if she can get that far. Wherever. She feels good. What else matters?

But she knows herself to know that this last is at least half a lie.

It's moot. Mike lifts her at the same instant that he slips out of her and turns with one hand on her waist and one under her ass, carrying her toward the bedroom. Laughing breathlessly. Or that might be Neil; she isn't even sure anymore. But this is good too, and while she can sense distant complexity, this is blessedly simple for the moment.

If taken on their own terms, moments can be enough, for the duration of themselves.