Three hours later, the bedroom looked like a hurricane had swept through it and decided to stay. The burgundy velvet comforter had been kicked completely off the bed and lay in a crumpled heap on the Persian rug. The pillows were scattered across the floor, some near the fireplace, one somehow ending up on top of the bookshelf. The sheets were soaked with sweat and other fluids, twisted into knots from the intensity of the last eight rounds. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the faint vanilla of Theo's cologne, a combination that had become intimately familiar to both of them.
Kota lay on his back, his chest still heaving. His cock, finally soft after hours of relentless activity, lay heavy against his thigh. His arms were wrapped around Theo, who was curled against his side like a contented cat, his head resting on Kota's chest, his blond hair even more disastrous than it had been that morning. The cowlick had somehow multiplied. There were now at least three separate sections of hair pointing in completely different directions, and a fourth had joined the rebellion while they weren't looking.
Theo traced lazy patterns on Kota's chest with his fingertip, drawing invisible shapes on the sweaty skin. "Darling," he murmured, his voice hoarse from hours of screaming.
"I think that was a new record. Eight rounds. My legs have stopped working. I'm going to be walking funny for a week."
"You're going to be walking funny for a month," Kota corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of Theo's head. "I made sure of it."
"Cuddles now," Theo demanded, snuggling closer. "I want cuddles. Proper cuddles. The kind where you hold me really tight and don't let go and tell me I'm pretty."
Kota obliged, wrapping both arms around Theo and pulling him flush against his chest. "You're pretty. You're the prettiest. You're so pretty it makes me want to go another round just looking at you."
"Don't you dare. My ass needs a break. My ass needs a vacation."
But even as he complained, Kota's hands were already roaming again. They slid down Theo's back, tracing the curve of his spine, then lower, cupping the massive swell of his ass and squeezing gently. Theo let out a breathy little moan and pressed closer, his body betraying his words.
"Kota," Theo giggled, swatting weakly at his boyfriend's hands. "You're getting too touchy. I said cuddles. Cuddles don't involve groping."
"Your cuddles don't involve groping. My cuddles are very hands-on. It's a different style. You'll learn to appreciate it."
Theo laughed, the sound bright and genuine, his cheeks flushing that familiar shade of pink. "You're impossible. I love you so much it's actually concerning. I think about you constantly. I doodle your name in the margins of my meeting notes. Like I'm some kind of Victorian maiden pining for her sailor husband lost at sea."
"You are a Victorian maiden," Kota said, grinning. "You're a Victorian maiden with a massive ass and a secret slutty side and terrible taste in men."
"My taste in men is excellent. I landed you, didn't I?" Theo tilted his head up and pressed a soft kiss to Kota's jaw. "Maybe I should keep my hair like this forever. The bed hair. It seems to have a very powerful effect on you. I've never seen you so feral. You practically tackled me the moment I walked into the room."
Kota shook his head, reaching up to gently smooth down one of the more rebellious cowlicks. "No need. I love you no matter what. Bed hair, no bed hair. Robe, no robe. Screaming my name, no screaming my name. Well, preferably screaming my name. But the point is, I don't need the bed hair to want you. I always want you. Every version of you. Every messy, sleepy, stuttery, gorgeous version."
Theo's eyes went glassy with emotion, his lower lip trembling slightly. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me. You're going to make me cry. On top of everything else, now I'm going to be sore and crying."
"Good crying or bad crying?"
"Good crying. Definitely good crying. The best crying." Theo buried his face in Kota's chest and let out a shaky breath. "I love you. I love you so much. I never thought I'd have this. Someone who wants me. All of me. Not just the money or the title or the body. Me. Theodore Hawthorne, the stuttery principal who can't even eat a burger properly."
"You eat burgers like a psychopath," Kota agreed.
They dissolved into giggles, holding each other close, the morning light streaming through the bay window and painting everything in shades of gold.
In the hallway, pressed against the crack in the door, Elliot and Grayson watched the entire exchange with expressions of mock disgust. Elliot had his hand pressed to his chest like he was witnessing something personally offensive. Grayson was making fake gagging noises.
"Oh my god," Elliot whispered, his voice dripping with exaggerated revulsion. "All this sappy lover talk is making me go soft. Literally soft. My boner is gone. My boner has left the building. This is the most unsexy thing I've ever witnessed."
"They're talking about feelings," Grayson added, shuddering. "Feelings and cuddles and loving each other no matter what. It's like a Hallmark movie but with more nudity and bed hair."
"I'm going to need serious stimulation to recover from this. My libido has been personally attacked by romance."
Grayson grinned, his hand sliding down to squeeze Elliot's bare ass. "I can help with that. How about a good old-fashioned sensation overload? I've got some new techniques I've been wanting to try. Multiple points of stimulation. Edging. Maybe some temperature play if you're feeling adventurous."
Elliot's expression shifted from disgust to interest in half a second. "Fuck it. Let's go. My boner needs rehabilitation and you're the only therapist I trust."
"What if you can't last more than three minutes without creaming your pants?" Grayson teased, his voice taking on that mock-worried tone that always drove Elliot crazy. "What if the sensation overload is too much for your delicate little system? What if you become a quickshot like Dennis?"
"We'll find out," Elliot said, already dragging Grayson toward their bedroom. "And if I do cream my pants in three minutes, you're just going to have to build me back up and try again. That's what brothers are for."
They tumbled into their room, still laughing, still groping each other, their identical ginger curls bouncing with every movement. Grayson made a beeline for their sextoy box, a massive ornate chest at the foot of the bed that contained what could only be described as an arsenal. He threw open the lid and started rummaging through it, pulling out items one by one. Vibrating plugs. Cock rings. Nipple clamps. A flogger with soft leather tails. Then he paused, his brow furrowing.
"Hey. Elliot. Have you seen my onahole? The new one? The one with the dual-layer texture and the suction control?"
Elliot, who had been sprawled across the bed, lifted his head. "The clear one with the ribbed interior? No. I haven't touched it. Why? Is it not in there?"
"It's not in here. I swear I put it back after we used it last time. You know how I am about organization. Everything has its place." Grayson kept digging, his frown deepening. "It's definitely gone. Someone took it."
Before Elliot could respond, a soft moan drifted through the bathroom door that connected their room to the ensuite. It was a low, breathy sound, almost reverent, and it was accompanied by the wet, rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick of silicone sliding against skin.
The twins exchanged a look. Then, in perfect synchronization, they crept toward the bathroom door and peered through the crack.
Griss was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his black jeans bunched around his ankles, his pale thighs spread wide. In his hand was the missing onahole, the clear silicone sleeve already slick with lube and precum. He was stroking himself with slow, desperate movements, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, his piercings catching the bathroom light. And he was mumbling.
"Theo... my darling Theo... you love me... I know you love me... we're going to be together... someday you'll see... you'll finally see... Theo... Theo... Theo..."
Elliot and Grayson looked at each other again. Then, identical grins spread across their faces.
"Three hours," Elliot whispered, genuine admiration in his voice. "He's been at it for three hours straight. That's impressive stamina for someone who got fucked into another dimension last night."
"We could learn from him," Grayson agreed. "The dedication. The focus. The complete disregard for his own physical limitations."
Elliot pushed the bathroom door open and strode inside. Griss's eyes flew open, his hand freezing on the onahole, his face flooding with color. "I—I can explain—I wasn't—this isn't—"
"No, no, don't stop," Elliot said, holding up a hand. "We're not here to judge. We're here to congratulate you. Three hours is genuinely impressive. Most people can't go that long even with a partner."
"We are also here," Grayson added, stepping forward and plucking the onahole from Griss's trembling fingers, "to make you an offer." He set the toy aside and grabbed Griss by the wrists, pulling him to his feet. Griss stumbled, his jeans still around his ankles, his cocklet still hard and leaking.
"Kota said we couldn't have you as a slave," Elliot said, his voice dropping into that low, predatory register.
"And we respect that. Boundaries are important. Consent is important. But he didn't say anything about incentivizing subservience." He grabbed Griss's chin and tilted his face up, forcing eye contact. "We're going to make you love us instead of Theo. By the time we're done with you, you won't even remember his name."