This one's for Kamil, my number one ally in the crusade to preserve the romance. I wanted to write a m/m/m piece, and she wanted a specific character used. Plus, she sent me the tape -- with and without eurominutes. Thanks, Kamil.

BTW, did I mention that this one's not a comedy, and that it's kind of weird? Consider it mentioned.

"Hold him tighter."

That's the part he likes most, after all, you holding him. That's why he's here. I could be anyone -- any nameless, warm body pressing against him, any anonymous, hard cock driving into him. Only you matter. Oh, his body appreciates my efforts; I can feel him closing around me, welcoming me. God, he's hot, and so damned tight. But that's just reflex. Everything that counts -- his heart, his mind, his soul -- is focused on you.

I didn't understand what was going on here at first. I thought it was just about sex, just for fun. Just a friend with a willing playmate inviting another friend to fly up so the three of us could spend the weekend fucking our brains out. Just good, clean sex. I thought it was an excuse to check up on me, see how I was doing, make sure I was all right. An excuse to make sure old Greg was keeping to the straight and narrow. Well, the narrow, anyway. I needed a break, and it sounded like fun. I didn't realize then that it had nothing to do with me at all. It's all about him. But I would have come even if I'd known that. I wouldn't have missed this for the world.

He's a beauty, isn't he? That's something else I didn't realize at first. I saw the appeal, of course. When I walked in and saw  him lying there half-naked, curled up on your bed, I could see why you enjoyed fucking him. The shy, flirtatious glance from under the lashes, the revealing blush. Where do you find them? So young, so innocent, so fucking hot. It's been a long time since I got that hard, that fast. Even before I touched him I could already feel those long legs wrapped around me as I thrust into him, those long fingers clutching me to him. I knew that I wanted to see that delicate mouth stretched around my cock, that smooth, pale skin flushed and damp with desire, that long neck arched in passion.

It took me longer to see beneath the surface, to see what you see in him beyond the body built for sex. It's his eyes, isn't it? There's something deep in his eyes that pulls at you. It's as if he's got some secret place locked deep inside that no one ever gets to see. That's fascinating, isn't it? The idea that you can be the one that unlocks whatever it is he's hiding from the rest of the world. The idea that you can hold and cherish the part of him that no one else gets to see. That challenge is what makes
him beautiful, and you never could resist a challenge. Why do you always get the beautiful ones? Even the ones that don't look like anything special come alive for you. The mundane disappears, and
they become wondrous and splendid in your arms. Was the beauty always there, or are they beautiful because you love them?

And you do love this one. He's much more than just another playmate, more than just an pportunistic fuck. It's so damn obvious. You don't look at a weekend fuck the way you're looking at him -- as if every fleeting expression that crosses his face is a treasure to be memorized and hoarded for a rainy day. You're always gentle and attentive to your partners, but you don't hold all of them with that much care, or kiss them with that much tenderness. You're too aware of him -- too conscious of every breath, too alert for every gasp. You echo every shiver that goes through him, muffle every half-whispered word of pleasure with a kiss.

I'm much older than your new lover. I've seen sex, and I've seen love; this isn't about sex at all. When I held him while you made love to him this morning, I saw the joy he felt and the completion you reached when you joined with him. There was nothing jarring, nothing missing. My hand around his cock was unnecessary; he would have come just from watching your face. Neither of you needed me here just for sex.

So why am I here? Not that I'm objecting. I don't feel like I'm being used or taken advantage of -- you were very careful about that. I understand you needed someone you could trust, and I'm
flattered and relieved that you thought of me. I just want to know -- which one of you wanted this? Which one of you needed it?

It was you, wasn't it? He didn't need me here. I've been gentle, but I could brutalize him and he wouldn't notice -- I barely exist for him. When his mouth was hot around me, his tongue sliding over my cock, his hand teasing my balls, he was watching you. When I spread him on the bed, stroked him, stretched him, entered him -- his eyes were on you. He doesn't want this; he doesn't need it. He's doing it for you, because you want it.

What is he supposed to find in my arms? What are you watching for in his eyes? What is it about him that you doubt? Not that he loves you, I hope.

Of course he loves you. How could he help it? He's young, and the young love beauty. Is that the problem? So what if it was your body that attracted him? When he's older and wiser you'll still
be beautiful, and none of this will matter -- by then he'll have different reasons to love you. For your strength, your honor. For your loyalty and your refusal to give up on a friend. For the beauty that's your heart and soul.

Give him time, Duncan. You can afford it. That's something you and Adam have plenty of.
 

The End